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I remember trying to teach Darcy to ride a bike. That was a complete disaster. My own dad had to step in. I’m just not the sensitive kind of guy that can guide anyone step by step.
I take a deep breath, grabbing her hand as she starts heading off the ice.
“Look, I shouldn’t have laughed when you fell. I’m sorry.” I speak as softly as I can. “It’s just that you said you were preparing for a scholarship. Watching you like this, I find it hard to believe.”
She shakes her head, setting her helmet down on the ice.
“It’s not that.” She wipes at her eyes. “My mom played for Boston Pride.” She chuckles hollowly as her tears start to dry away. “She was the captain, like you.”
I nod. “So, she can train you, then. You don’t need me.”
She shakes her head again. “She’s dead, Tristan.” The words sound like sandpaper on her tongue. “All I ever wanted was for her to be proud of me. That’s why I put everything into hockey, and it’s just had the reverse effect. I’m no longer following in her footsteps. I’m falling away from them.”
A sad smile crosses my features, and I reach out to cup her face. “You’re too beautiful, and too passionate, to think of yourself as a failure, Faith. You just need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”
She sighs. “When I first started playing, I used to feel so damn powerful. Like everything was within my grasp. Including the puck. I had that in the palm of my hands. Then—”
I press my finger to her lips, my eyes locking with hers. “Remember that feeling, Faith, and let’s start again.” Despite my rational brain telling me I shouldn’t, I plant a delicate kiss on her cold, trembling lips.
Her eyelashes flutter, and a faint grin tugs at the corners of her mouth. I skate away from her, watching as she picks up her helmet and pushes it back on.
She’s not even the same person once she starts to skate this time. Gone is the nervous woman who was skating for the first time in years, replaced by a confident one, driven by the skills she’d once honed with hopes of using them in the future.
She’d be an excellent player, I can see that immediately, watching her every move as she follows my instructions down to the letter. The girl can skate.
But, each time I pass her the puck, it becomes evident where her weakness lies. She fails miserably to execute even the simplest shot, fumbling every pass I send her way.
“Faith! You need to focus. We’re going to take it from the top!”
I can hear her sigh, frustrated. But, after a moment, she nods her head, lowering her chin.
It’s getting time for us to head back to the hotel. I should tell her to stop, but she suddenly skates past me and, at last, she puts the biscuit in the basket.
It wasn’t just any goal, but a beautiful one. Her gloved hand rises in the air in triumph. She’s getting the hang of it, and she’s definitely got potential, if I do say so myself.
She isn’t the only one proud of her accomplishments. Maybe this teacher thing isn’t so bad, after all. And maybe that scholarship is more attainable than she thinks.
Chapter Twelve
Faith
Yesterday, I couldn’t have been more nervous about skating with Tristan. But, with the hotel’s babysitting service and him using his limited free time to practice with me, I feel like everything might start to fall into place. More than I ever thought it would.
I feel like a duck finally back in the water. It does come naturally to me. I’ve been fighting my ability to play—or inability, depending on how you look at it—so
damn much that it was painful at first. But now, I’m just excited about the whole thing.
I go back to the hotel, leaving Tristan at the arena. While I’m in the taxi, my phone rings. It’s my second day here, and I haven’t heard one word from Dad.
Until now.
“Dad, hey.” I smile. I’m happier than I have been in a long time, despite not scoring a goal during today’s short practice, and I hope he can hear it in my voice.
“Faith. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
I nod. “Good, actually. The kids are little angels, to be honest. And Tristan’s sticking to his word, helping me out. He even said that maybe a recommendation from him would go a long way in my application to school.”
“What about payment?” he asks briskly. “You never did say how much he’s going to pay you. Or when.”
