“Clear.”
The ice feels different under my blades. Or maybe it’s me that feels different. Either way, the cold air hits my face as I push off, sharp and familiar. I do a few laps, testing my knee, waiting for pain that never comes. My edges are a sloppy, my timing’s a little off, but I’m finally back to skating.
Roman skates over after drills, spraying ice as he stops. “How’s it feel?”
“Weird. Good. Weird-good.”
“That’s a ringing endorsement for Marnie and her team.”
“Give me a week. I’ll be back to normal.”
“Better be. Playoff push is soon and we’ll need you”
I practice for forty minutes before Jake pulls me off. “That’s enough for today. Don’t push it.”
It’s frustrating but I know he’s right. My knee is already aching which means I’ve pushed close to my limit. I hit the showers and change, feeling that good kind of exhausted that comes from actually using your body the way it’s meant to be used.
When I walk out of the locker room, Juliette is in the hallway.
She’s talking to one of the PTs, taking notes and completely focused. Her hair’s pulled back in that bun she always wears, and she’s got a pen tucked behind her ear. She hasn’t seen me yet.
“Hey,” I call out.
She looks over and gives me a small smile. “How was practice?”
“My timing is complete garbage.”
“It’ll come back.”
“You sound really confident about that.”
“I am confident. You’re annoyingly persistent about everything. You’ll be fine.” She finishes whatever she’s writing. “I have to update some files but I’m free around four if you want to grabfood?”
I should play it cool. Should maybe say I have plans or I’m busy or literally anything that doesn’t make me seem as pathetically available as I actually am.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Great. Meet you in the lobby?”
“I’ll be there.”
She walks away and I just stand there slack-jawed, watching her go.
“You’re cooked,” Almardon says from behind me.
I flip him off and head to the gym. I’ve got an hour to kill before meeting Juliette and I need to do something productive besides thinking about the way she smiled when she saw me.
We fallinto this routine over the next few weeks. January flies by.
I practice in the mornings, do PT in the afternoons. She works with Marnie, teaches her classes, preps for grad school. We grab food together two or three times a week. She quizzes me on random trivia she learned that day. I tell her about my teammates’ antics. We argue about music and food and whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
It is. She’s wrong. We’re still debating this.
The texts become constant. Good morning messages that turn into all-day conversations. Photos of stupid things that made us think of each other. Voice memos when typing takes too long, her voice filling my car or my apartment, making empty spaces feel less empty.
I learn things about her. Small things. She has a sweet tooth. She wants to stay in Seattle after grad school. She has a sister getting married in mid-February. She’s really nervous about going back to Toronto for it.
I don’t push for details about the ex. She mentions him sometimes—always carefully, like she’s testing how much she can say—but I never ask follow-up questions. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
