Page 20 of My Orc Package Deal

“The problem isn’t that you don’t know how to skate backwards,” I said. “You do. The problem is your edges. On ice, you’ve got a blade. One clean edge to push off. On these”—I gestured down at our rollerblades—“you’ve got four wheels in a line, and your brain keeps looking for an edge that isn’t there.”

Jay glanced down at his feet, that skepticism clearing to something more thoughtful. He knew as well as I did that last summer he’d still been in Colorado, with much easier access to an ice complex for all his off-season training. The kid could rollerblade, but not with the same skill.

And definitely not as well as someone like me, who’d spent the last decade in Texas. Actually, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played hockey on ice instead of a street game.

“So instead of pushing,” I continued, “you’re going to drag. Toe out, heel in, and let the wheel friction do the work.” I demonstrated slowly, rolling backwards a few inches. “Don’t push back. Just open.”

“That looks weird.”

“It looks weird, and it works. Ready?”

He set his jaw—good Lord, he looked so much like his father when he did that—and nodded.

We started slow, me rolling forward, him following, the stick a straight line of tension between us. His first few strokes were too sharp, the old muscle memory kicking in and looking for an edge to bite, and he lurched sideways. The stick caught him.

I knew that he’d had regular practice and games on the mainland up until recently. But off-season training was up to each player and their family, and even Jay could admit that it was easier to practice here in the cul-de-sac than take the ferry off the island.

“Again,” I said. “Softer. Like you’re spreading peanut butter.”

He made a face. “Nobody has ever described hockey skating like that.”

“Nobody taught you on rollerblades before.” I raised my eyebrow in challenge. “Softer.”

Jay scowled—stop thinking of Korrad—and tried again.

This time I felt the drag instead of the push, the subtle shift in his weight. The stick went almost slack between us, and for four, five, six feet, he was doing brilliantly.

“There,” I said quietly. “That’s it. That’s the feeling.”

He didn’t whoop or celebrate the way Milo would have. He just did it again, jaw still set, eyes down, making sure.

We kept skating, and I turned us slowly, looping around the empty cul-de-sac. “Hey,” I said gently. “Look at me.”

When Jay’s dark eyes lifted to mine, I smiled. “You’re a good enough skater to not have to look at your feet, right?”

He snorted, lips twitching. “I haven’t had to do that since I was a kid.”

Not reminding him that, despite his new Big Brother standing, he was still very much a kid, I just joined him in a little snort and turned him again.

“Good, then don’t look down now. It’s a different kind of skating, but once you get good at it, you’ll feel the similarities. Then we can train here this summer every day. Easier and cheaper than getting to the mainland.”

“Hotter, though,” Jay scowled, his grip on the stick loose. “I miss the snow.”

“Yeah, me too.” I shrugged. “But Eastshore is really nice, and I’m glad to be here.”

He dropped his gaze, but not to his feet—just to my shoulder, as if he didn’t want to meet my eyes. “I’m glad too,” he muttered. Then he swallowed. “Milo told me you lived in Texas. Does it snow there?”

This time my chuckle was louder. “Very rarely! But I grew up in Massachusetts, which is where I learned to play hockey. Everyone plays up there. When we moved south, I had to learn to play on rollerblades.” Pickup games in the street were free, after all. “There are some benefits.”

“I’m going to melt.” When he rolled his dark eyes, they met mine once more. “And you’re sweating, even though Dad says I’m not supposed to notice things like that. We’re going to melt into a puddle.”

I didn’t bother hiding my laughter, and I released the stick entirely, but kept skating with him, forward to his backward.

“I was thinking the same thing, Jay. Let’s make an agreement to do this first thing in the morning tomorrow. Or after dinner instead. The humidity is still wicked, but at least the sun won’t be as ridiculous.”

“Deal,” he groaned, carving to a stop. “Can Milo and I go to the beach to cool off?”

I settled into an easy stride beside him, both of us skating in circles. “Let’s ask your father. I have a manuscript I need to finish the edits on by Monday, but it would be fun to go together, if you don’t mind company.”