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I steer Quinn toward a bench ringing the ice. No one else is out here right now, just a bored-looking teenager working a stand for skate rentals. I lift Quinn’s leg, nudging her to turn and face me as I pull her boot into my lap. It’s one of those fuzzy things Anna loves. Ugly, but warm. There’s a thin white line around the toe. Stains from the rock salt the city uses to thaw the streets and sidewalks.
“If I’d known you’d be up and personal with my feet, I’d have worn different shoes,” Quinn says. I smile to cover up the fact that it takes some real effort to tug them off. “I’ll admit, when you asked for my shoe size, I assumed we were going bowling.”
“We can do that too,” I say, “After we skate.”
Her smile is soft, warming me up from the inside like a few good sips of cocoa burning their way to my stomach. I drop her boot on the rubber mat covering the ground and look down at her blue and purple polka dot socks. I can’t resist tracing my thumb down her instep and feel her twitch in my grip. She snorts out a laugh, trying to pull her foot away.
“How’s your brother? Didn’t he get injured?” She asks as I slip the white leather boot over her foot. She was the same size as my mom, who had been more than happy to let me commandeer her skates. If things go well today, I’ll buy Quinn a pair of her own. Except…when will she get a chance to wear them? It makes me a selfish bastard, but I don’t like the thought of her skating with anyone else. I don’t like the thought of her being with anyone else.
“He’s fine. Out for the next week or two, but fine. It’s a grade one groin sprain, but he’s still traveling with the Arctic so the team trainers can monitor his recovery.” I probably wasn’t supposed to tell her any of that. “I’m not sure if that information’s public.”
“I won’t share it,” Quinn says. I lace her skates, tugging and tightening to make sure she’s secure. I’ve seen far too many people out on public rinks with their skates so loose it’s a miracle they leave without breaking an ankle. “My dad noticed he was on the reserve list and was worried.”
“You can tell your dad.” I pat my thigh until she gives me her other foot.
“I’ll just tell him Vic’s fine.” Her eyes are flickering back and forth between mine, and my sternum is aching. “No need to say anything else.”
I do her second laces up even faster and then it’s time for mine. I’ve read about some athletes having specially made prosthetics with a blade attached. I suppose if this goes well, I can look into it. I don’t have anything quite that fancy today.
Hockey skates open almost all the way to the toes so it isn’t too bad slipping my foot in even without an ankle joint. This is one of Vic’s back-up pairs. We were always the same size as kids and that hasn’t changed. We’ve never shared before, though. Second-hand equipment wasn’t something we weren’t used to, but we never had to split. Erik’s and Vic’s. Two sets of skates, two sets of sticks, pads, helmets. I’m glad he was cool with me borrowing these. There’s something demoralizing about renting skates after my history with the sport.
Quinn watches as I rock the boot over my foot and make sure my prosthetic is secure. I was a little concerned about the heel not sitting right, but everything is snug and secure. I lace it up and wonder if she’s going to say anything or ask how often I get out on the ice, but she doesn’t. She just sits on the bench and waits for me, gloved hands tucked under her thighs.
I secure the second skate and get to my feet. So far, so good. It feels strange not having my ankles to help balance my weight, but my skates are usually tied so tight that my ankles can’t move much anyway. I remind myself that it’s been… a long time since I’ve done this. It’s bound to feel strange, even if I had two functioning legs. My heart is pounding and I suck a breath into my lungs before letting it out slowly. I hold out a hand and lever Quinn to her feet, too. If I think too much, I’ll chicken out. If I name this feeling winging through my chest, then I won’t take that first step. Instead, I lead her to the edge of the ice.
“I know this is stupid, but I’m nervous,” she says, her hands gripping the plywood as she eyes the smooth surface. It’s almost automatic, my instinct to promise that I won’t let her fall. That’s what boyfriends, dates, do, right? But that isn’t something I can be sure of. Not anymore. I feel fine standing here, but on the ice is a different beast. What if I can’t catch my balance? What if I fall? I’m not afraid of getting hurt, but the humiliation… I haven’t fallen on the ice—without good reason—since I was single digits. Admitting that, even just to myself, sucks a lot.
“We’re in this together, okay Quinn?”
“Yes,” she says, and we step out onto the ice.
I want to say it’s easy, but that would be a lie. The ice is pitted and bumpy under my skates—that isn’t uncommon, especially on smaller rinks with no Zamboni—but I don’t have the natural give in my lower leg to balance it out. It feels like I’ve travelled back to those first few months when I was still getting comfortable standing, moving, existing. Everything is heavy from my knee down and the ice feels like it’s pitching under my feet. I’m grateful for the hours I clocked walking on sand to help sort my equilibrium. It had been a suggestion from a US Army vet, one I met in my second support group. I’d been too angry to get anything out of the first group I joined. Too busy feeling sorry for myself.
I can make this work. Even if I have to take small, marching steps, the kind mini mites use when they first get their bearings on the ice. It would have been nearly impossible if I hadn’t kept my knee.
Quinn is holding onto the boards as she takes tiny baby steps too. Every now and then she wobbles and her free arm flails out to help her re-balance. I reach for her waving hand and link our fingers together. She’s going to unbalance herself and at least this way I can cushion her fall if we both go down.
“I’m not sure I can hold you up,” I say and she shrugs, but won’t look at me.
“Yea, I know. You’re a big guy, but I’m not exactly a delicate flower.” Together we skate another couple feet around the edge of the rink, but she still guides her way with the boards.
“I meant my leg, Quinn.” I try not to laugh at her baffled expression. I really do, but she can’t be serious.
“You’re what?”
“My prosthetic.” There was no way she’s forgotten. Most people don’t let me forget. Except my brother. He’d offered me up as a stand in on a boudoir photo shoot—aka sans clothes—and hadn’t thought to warn the photographer that I only have three out of four limbs. The photographer, Jenna, hadn’t ended up needing me after all, which is a good thing because I’m not sure I wanted to strip down in front of another woman, but Vic had seemed surprised when I told him he should have warned her about me.
“Oh right,” Quinn’s cheeks and nose are pink with the cold and her blush, “I imagine your balance is different now.”
Different.
Not worse, just different.
I nod. “It takes more effort to catch myself. It’s like locking your knees on the subway instead of staying loose.” It doesn’t mean you’ll fall, but it’s harder to stay upright.
“We’re in this together,” Quinn lets go of the boards. “Maybe I’ll fall, and maybe I’ll catch you.”
Later when I look back on our time together, unwrapping each moment to view it from new and sparkling angles, when I conjure up the memory of her smile and her laugh and the feel of her fingers entwined with mine, this will be when I fall. Not onto the ice, but in love with Quinn Cooper. Distance between us be damned. It’s not gradual. I’ve been sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for it to happen. Like a dunk tank, either no one will hit the buzzer, and I’ll climb out dry, or I’ll sit and wait until I tumble ass over elbow into the cold water. Except falling for Quinn is like slipping into the cool water when it’s one hundred plus degrees out and I’ve been baking under the sun for hours. It’s welcome. Comfortable. Needed.
