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Because she nudges my shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking?—”
“That how can two people as athletically talented as you and Mike—a gold medalist figure skater, a professional hockey player—somehow produce a kid as uncoordinated as your youngest?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Yes.” A sigh. “That.” She wraps her arms around me. “You’ve got this, honey. Just keep hanging in there until it feels less like hanging and more like soaring.”
“So says the figure skater who can leap and twirl through the sky.”
“Okay,” she teases. “Keep hanging in there until every puck hits the dead center of your glove.”
“That’s better.” I nod toward the door. “Go,” I say. “I’m fine. I promise.”
She exhales, head dropping back. “Please no concussions,” she prays. “I am not prepared to spend another day in the ER.”
“Keep me posted and let me know if you need me to grab the other kiddos.”
Sara lifts her head, expression soft, and then reaches over and hugs me tight. “You are beautiful. You are worthy. You are loveable.”
Those words hit like a barrage of pucks colliding on my pads during practice. Bam! Bam! Bam! And as I’m absorbing the impact, she’s dropping her arms, stepping back.
“Bye, honey. I’ll text you.” She moves to the door, hesitates on the threshold. “Brit?”
I’m reaching for the leggings, but pause, my fingers wrapped in the stretchy black fabric. I look back up at my friend. “Be happy, honey.”
Another puck, this time to the stomach, stinging through my chest protector. “Thanks, Sara.”
Then she’s gone.
And then I’m pulling on those leggings, that pretty strappy bra, the flowy tank.
I push my feet into my sneakers, pull my hair up into a ponytail, grab a hoodie because it’s inevitably going to start off cold.
Mascara and a tinted moisturizer. A bit of blush and some lip gloss.
“And that’s as good as it’s going to get,” I whisper.
I exhale.
And then I walk out of my house.
And…
I go for a run.
Nine
Stefan
“I like them a lot, baby girl,” my mom says, admiring the newest manicure that Rox is sporting—blue sparkles and one white nail with a glittery crystal design glued onto it.
Heaven forbid one of those falls off on the ice during practice or a game and ruins someone’s skate blade.
Disaster.
Except, she’s playing in-house hockey at the local rink.
For fun.
Everyone’s edges are already either over or under sharpened. There aren’t any blades to ruin.
