I shove him, and he doesn’t budge an inch. “That’syourfault, too, Mr. Rawlings.”
“I don’t hear you complaining,” he says with a knowing smirk.
My cheeks flush. “Quit bragging and find us some skates.”
Ezra leads us around the rink, waving to the coach on the ice, who looks like he’s wrapping up the practice with the kids, then down a tunnel. We stop in the equipment room, where we find a pair of skates to fit me, then head to his office, where he says he keeps his own bag of gear.
When we make it back out to the rink, the kids are gone and the ice is completely clear. I’m glad because I would have been really embarrassed if the five- and six-year-olds showed me up with their skating skills.
I watch as Ezra expertly puts on his skates, and I try to mimic him but give up.
He laughs. “I got you, Sunny.”
I don’t miss his wince as he drops down in front of me, and I know it’s because of his hip. He tries to act like it doesn’t hurt him, but I seehow he favors his left side and the faces he makes when he stands and sits. He’s in pain, and I wish he’d talk about it more than he does. I wish he knew it was okay to not be okay. I’m not going to judge him if he isn’t 100 percent all the time.
“How do those feel?” he asks.
“Uh, weird? You said they felt unreliable before, right? That seems like an understatement now.”
He smiles. “You’ll get used to it. Let’s get on the ice and see how they feel then.”
I let him help me up, my knees shaking as I try to figure out how to stand on the impossibly thin piece of metal. How this is even considered safe, I don’t know, but I’m willing to give it a shot.
“Want to watch me do a few laps first while you get comfortable with the skates?” he asks when we reach the edge of the ice.
“Please.”
“Just hold on to the boards.”
I nod, gripping them tightly as he lets me go.
He steps—no, more like jumps—on the ice, and then he’s gone. He’sfast. Much faster than I anticipated, given his injury. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep up with him.
I watch as he takes a few laps around the rink, his thick thighs pumping. He should look silly out there in his dress shirt and slacks, but he doesn’t. He looks completely natural and at ease.
If I thought he looked free when speeding down the two-lane roads, I was wrong. It’s nothing compared to how he looks right now.
Sadness tugs me. I hate that he lost this. I hate that he had to give up something that meant so much to him.
“You okay?” He comes to a stop in front of me, snapping me out of my haze.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just worried about keeping up with you.” It’s not a complete lie, but I also don’t want him to know that I was feeling sorry for him. He’d hate it, and I know that because I’d hate it too. We’re a lot alike in that regard.
“I promise I’ll go slow. I won’t let go until you’re ready.”
He holds his hand out to me just like he did at the cidery, and just like then, I relinquish all my trust to him and slip my palm against his.
Slowly, he pulls me onto the ice. It’s immediately slippery, and my first instinct is to flail my arms out to try to steady myself.
“Engage your core,” he says, gripping my hand tighter.
“Core? I don’t even have a core!”
He laughs. “You do too. You’ve got it.”
“I’m going to fall!” I yell, feeling my legs slip out from underneath me.
“Engage! Engage!” he instructs, grabbing my other hand. “Come on, Sunny. You’ve got this.”
