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“Wanna pregame with us later?”
Huh? Was he talking tome? I looked around me for a second to see if anyone else was around before staring back at him confusedly. I was still unsure why he was talking to me. He looked older than me. He had to be. He had a full face of dirty blond-ish scruff and half a tattoo sleeve on his right arm.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you.” His deep voice rumbled with a chuckle. “What do ya say? Pregame before the beer league game with us?”
“You…” I cleared my throat and covered my forehead to block the sun so I could see him a bit more clearly. “You wanna work out before the game?” That sounded awfully suspicious to me. I was never invited anywhere.
His lips twisted like he was trying hard not to laugh.
“No, Sweetheart. I’m talking about partying. Pregaming means drinking. Some beer pong, maybe some flip cup. We’ve got a table set up right behind the NHL rink’s entrance.”
The name ‘Sweetheart’ came out sounding so rough and low from his lips… everything else sounded like he was speaking a different language. I’d never heard of any of those things… probably because I never had a normal life. The rink was my entire world, and outside of it, I was just plain stupid. I guess that's what happened when you were homeschooled and spent all of your hours skating. My father, Craig, was the rink manager here at the Ice League, my mom was a coach. She was an Olympic pairs skater for Russia back in the eighties. She defected her citizenship and had been coaching here taking different skaters to the Olympics representing almost every country under the sun ever since…
“We always party it up before the beer league games,” he continued to say. “It’s fun, you should come.”
“Uh, who is ‘we’?”
His large shoulders shrugged. “All the guys who work here at the Ice League. When we’re done with our shifts, we party, we play, then we go home. Then we wake up and do it all over again,” he laughed. “It’s a way of life, Sweetheart.”
There it was, calling me that name again… and it did something to my chest.
I squinted up at him. So, he was one of the bums still trying to make it in hockey that my dad always complained about. My dad always warned me to stay away from all hockey players… Which never made sense to me– he had been one of them.
But really, what did my dad know about relationships? He was the one embroiled in a messy divorce, not me.
“So, do ya wanna?” he asked.
Did I? I knew Ishouldn'twant to. I knew I should be getting back out onto the ice just like the perfect daughter I was supposed to be… but a voice in the back of my head kept asking,why keep playing this charade? Especially when I was the only one playing the part?My parents would go back by the zam entrance and start screaming at each other again, and I'd have to pretend everything was fine for Claire. The whole thing made me feel like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't focus at all and I had started to fall on my jumps just because my head wasn’t in it… That's why I was nursing a nasty blue ass bruise. I winced just thinking about it.
I took a deep breath and smoothed a hand over my face. “No,” I said firmly. “I need to get back to the ice if you’ll excuse me,” I said quietly.
This little interaction was just weird. I ignored the hand he reached out toward me to help me up and pushed myself off the pavement on my own.
I’m sure he was a fine person, but I didn’t need anyone.
He faced me with an open, non-judgmental, almost curious look.
I hesitated for a split second… Because I felt oddly drawn to him, like he was someone I could spill all my worries to… But that would be utterly stupid. Saying worries aloud made them real. I needed to button up my brain and make it shut the hell up.
I shook my head out as I walked, hearing my broken skate guard snapping back at my blade with every step.
“But seriously,” he called out to me from where I left him on the sidewalk. “You good?”
I stopped in my tracks and looked up at the rink. I couldn’t explain why… but my vision started to blur.
Fuck.
I willed myself not to let my shoulders shake and to stop crying before anyone could see. I screwed my eyes shut tight, took in a deep breath, and let it out shakily. I squeezed my hands into fists by my side, trying to harness all my emotions.
When I opened my eyes again, he was standing right in front of me. Right between me and the rink.
“It’s a shame to see you so sad. I bet you’re even more beautiful when you smile,” he said softly. There wasn’t a hint of joking on his face anymore and his words felt important. I chewed the inside of my cheek at that. I did not feel like smiling. I couldn’t even remember the last time I smiled.
“What’s making you cry?” he asked.
“I’m not crying,” I bit back defensively.
“Okay,” he backpedaled. “Well, why do you feel the way you currently feel?”
