“She’s very good at coming up with those. So, you’re not headed into work?”
“No. And since my hints aren’t working, I’ll be direct. Rosie, will you spend the day with me?”
I pretend to consider it for a second. “Yeah, I think I will.”
Chapter 34 – Something Defensive in Me
Liam
I haven’t been on the ice since I was fifteen years old. When I gave up hockey as a competitive sport, unfortunately, I also gave up coming here just to skate. I think I startled Rosalie when I hugged her fiercely for suggesting it.
Unlike the breakfast place, it’s pretty dead for a Friday late morning. It makes for good ice. Less gouges in it. People tend to associate ice skating with Christmastime for some reason, and since it’s August and school is starting, we have minimal hug-the-wall wobblers or hordes of teenagers with their epic falls. Oh, to have bones that spongy forever.
“Not bad, Barnes.” I’m skating backward and checking out Rosalie with her smooth strides and rosy cheeks. I’m glad she changed into warm leggings and brought a sweatshirt. The sweatshirt is so big her hands are hiding inside it.
“You’re just saying that because you’re all…” She gets flustered and waves her sleeves at me. “Good at this.”
“Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”
“Oh, it’s a very good thing,” she mutters. “Stupid hockey fantasies.”
I can’t look at her and pretend I didn’t hear that, so I turn and skate next to her, watching two kids chasing each other around the middle of the rink, one in hockey gear and one in figure skating apparel.
“Could you teach me?” Rosalie asks, taking my hand.
“Teach you what?”
“How to skate backward.”
“Sure. Do you know how to stop?”
She lets go of my hand and speeds up a little before turning her skates and coming to a pretty impressive stop, making bits of ice fly up from her blades. “Like this?”
“Yeah. When did you learn to do that?”
“Kambryn took lessons one summer. My parents gifted it to her as a birthday present. I was her ride there, and we’d stay for open skate afterward. Then I left for college and I’ve only been a few times since.”
I start with the basics of crossovers, a skill she’s already mastered but which needs a little fine-tuning, and then we move to what skating backward will look like. I don’t want her falling without gear, so we take it very slow, with her watching me at first. I show her the change in stance, where she’ll be bending her knees while leaning forward, with her feet moving in arcs.
It's harder than it looks, and even though she’s practically sitting in my lap so I can spot her from behind, we’re too focused to flirt. The rink isn’t busy, but it’s still important to be vigilant about looking over our shoulders. By the time open skate ends, we’re both exhausted. I’d forgotten the tension that comes from holding a position for that long. I hurt in places I forgot I could hurt. But I’m also determined to come back with her, even if I have to reserve a time just for us. It really takes about a month to get confident skating backward at full speed. I want that for her, and I want the synergy of working together on something for us.
We leave the ice, her frozen fingers loosely linked with mine. She’s ditched her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist, but without gloves, her hands never fully warmed up. We’ll bring gloves next time.
“Liam,” she says, as we’re sitting on a bench, digging at the laces wrapped around our battered rental skates. “Why didn’t you teach Wyatt and Callie to skate?” Her question is careful, like she’s been waiting to ask.
Carefully asked questions from women tend to trigger something defensive in me, and it startles me to feel those walls going up with Rosalie. I want to hide it, but she’s so good at reading my poker face, she can already tell. I know, because she’s an open book. She looks at me with caution, maybe even a little bit of hurt.
“Rosie.” She’s been tugging at the same stubborn knot in her bootlace, so I lean down and work at it until she’s ready to pull her foot free while I hold the skate for her. Just like on the ice or when we’re taking care of the kids, there’s an instinctive teamwork that kicks in the moment either of us sees a need.
There’s nothing I need to hide from her, not even my instinct to shut down any questions about things I’ve set on a private shelf. Once I’ve freed her second foot, I start rubbing her arches, and after a feeble protest, she gives in, closing her eyes and sighing. She has two layers of socks on. Both pairs are striped. I’ve never worn a pair of striped socks in my life.
“I haven’t been here in a long time either,” I admit. “I used to play hockey here, but I think you know that.”
She nods. “There’s a photo of your team in an album. Callie showed me.”
“I found hockey around sixth grade. Some of the other kids were talking about playing, so I asked my parents if they could sign me up. My dad got really invested in it, sponsoring my team and befriending all my coaches. But then one year I broke my collarbone, and Dad was pushing for me to recover fast and for the coach to play me as soon as the doctors had cleared me, even though my ankle had been giving me trouble. I was doing physical therapy for that as well. I realized something I did so I could bewith my friends had taken over my life. It’s a pretty common story. The sport stopped being fun, so I quit. Jack was smarter. He flat out refused to do any team sport my dad cared about.”
When I look up at Rosalie, she’s watching me, absorbing my words. Finished with the one foot, I carefully set it down and motion for her to give me her other one to rub. The place has cleared out, except for the employees putting away skates and a couple of teens loitering by the arcade machines. Rosalie looks sheepish, but she sets her leg across mine, leaning back with her arms holding onto the bench behind her.