I lift a brow. “Really? Apparently, I’m about to get some really good handjobs from the curling team. And you know, other stuff.”
He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “When I was twenty-one, I had a team I could fall back on. You’re on your own out there on the ice. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t know how you wrangle twenty-three hockey players.”
“You saw firsthand that I don’t.”
“They still practicing down there?”
I can already see the guys lined up, navigating the puck around cones. A bunch of college guys just watched a fight and instead of devolving into gossip or calling it quits, they’re practicing like they’ve got a playoff game tomorrow.
I tell him, “You’re a good coach.”
He opens up his desk drawer, smiling to himself as finally grabs his spare shirt. Even if I’ve seen him shirtless, I take that as my cue to leave. I’ve got one foot out the door when I remember I’m actually the one who spilled our secret. Instead of an apology, I offer him something entirely different.
“You can tell Bekken about us.”
He already has his shirt pulled up over his lower stomach but now stares at me confused.
“Since Alex knows… It’s only fair.”
He drops the hem of his shirt. “Since your successful friend knows I should tell my most successful friend. Is that the logic?”
“Yes…I dunno. Is there anyone you want to know about us?”
“Since we’re laying it all out in the open, I don’t mind that she knows. I care that you didn’t tell me.”
Before I have a moment to process this information he adds, “Now, Roderick.” He says my name with such sweetness. “Get out of my office.”
I purse my lips and nod, closing the door behind me as I exit. It sounds like practice has concluded, my footsteps echoing as I head back downstairs. On my way out, I notice they’ve put up a new team photo for the season. Hanging beside the previous year’s team photos, it’s striking how different they are. Old coach Finke isn’t even smiling, asif that shows weakness.
Somehow, I leave the rink the same way I entered, with the key in my hand and a whirlwind of emotions in my chest. At least now, bliss is one of those feelings. It might be fighting against heartache and uncertainty, but it is there. I think they call that hope.
Chapter
Nineteen
Skatingmoves are so much harder to perform off ice. Yet that’s what I’ve been doing for the past hour, stretching and bending my body to appear like I’m skating when really I’m on a backlot in New York shooting promo for the Olympics.
“Okay, aaaaand—we got it!”
I grunt and drop my leg, standing awkwardly with one foot flat on the ground while the other is elevated by my skate blade. The PA is telling me something, but I’m too busy catching my breath to listen. “Right, yeah, sorry can you repeat that?”
A Sasquatch holding a clipboard looks down at me. “You can take a break.”
“Oh. Nice.”
I stand there with my hands on my hips, glancing around the soundstage. It reminds me of an overgrown jungle; root systems of wires ready to trip me up, dark corners I would rather avoid, and a general sense that I am deeply lost.
“Where do I do that?”
“I’ll show you to the green room.”
This nice lady has been leading me around all day, and I’ve completely blanked on her name. We enter a stark, quiet hallway, and I tell myself to ask so I can stop feeling so guilty about it. I can’t gather the courage or energy to do it. She opens the door to a medium sized dressing room, flowers on a table with snacks and drinks, and a couch pushed to one wall.
“Thank you,” I say, but she’s already running off, her finger pressed to her earpiece. Her voice echoes down the hallway, something about stage 3 running out of fake snow.
I flop down face-first on the couch. It smells like cleaning supplies, like every sterile hotel room I’ve ever been in. Somehow, I miss the smell of BO and burnt popcorn from my dorm room. I roll onto my back and pull out my phone, staring at all my muted social apps and deserted text threads.
