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“Don’t look down,” Reid hollers at Matthew. “Just move your legs.”
Poor Matthew.
I’m extremely proud of him because he was tearing up behind his blue-rimmed glasses, but when he saw the other two kids get kicked off the ice, he sucked it up.
“Can I go back out now, Miss Mayfield?”
I bite down on the inside of my bottom lip because no one in their right mind would go down there and ask Reid anything while he appears to be in the zone.
But Andy, one of the kids who got kicked off the ice, has been chomping at the bit to get back on the ice and show everyone what he’s got.
“I’m not sure, honey,” I reply, mauling over the idea of how I’d go about it. Heaven help the individual that might break that man’s focus. Yet, I wouldn’t want Andy to feel the heat of his wrath. “I’ll go ask, okay? You sit here.”
I look over at him, sitting a few rows up with me, as we watch the rest of the group try their best at their first real practice. His red hair is covering one of his eyes as he peers up hopefully at me.
I’m the adult. Reid can’t yell at me.
“I’ll be right back.” I rustle his hair as I rise and begin the walk that might get my head severed after disturbing the massive beast on the ice.
Reid is skating around, eyefully watching the boys as if mapping out each one of their strengths and weaknesses. I asked Weston about him last night and learned that he’s an NHL hockey player who got in some trouble over a fight—something about Reid getting suspended for a few games and wanting to take a break to do something more down-to-earth and simple.
It’d be sweet if it didn’t look like Reid would rather have a root canal than be here.
Weston says he won’t be here long and that we need to use him as much as possible to get some wins under our belt. That’s why I’m not trying to interrupt Reid when he took full ownership of the ice and then proceeded to kick me off of it.
Getting to the bottom of the stairs, I step up along the edge of the ice and the seating area, and that’s when Reid’s eyes snap over to mine like he can sense someone unwanted on his land.
Swallowing, I clench onto the edge of the wall and watch him slowly skate over to me with ease. Each glide of his legs and the confidence he ensues here is amazing. I’ve never seen someone so at home on the ice, because Weston coaches from where I’m standing, loathing how he’s unable to get out there with the kids because of a bad knee injury.
Reid doesn’t utter a word when he stops within two feet of me, even taller and more intimidating than yesterday because I think being on the ice is his superpower, and he looks like he can do anything on it.
“Is it okay if Andy comes back down now? He’s ready.”
Reid stares at me blankly, and I can’t help but appreciate the dark stubble around his jaw and the beard that makes him look like a mountain man. “Who?”
One of the kids you kicked off the ice.
However, I don’t want to say it like that because I feel as though it might sound catty and that I think he’s stupid. I obviously don’t expect him to know the names of all the kids yet, and I’m extremely grateful that he’s here, so I go with an easy approach.
“He’s one of the kids you told to sit down and take a breather,” I convey.
Those were definitely not his words, but my way sounds a lot nicer.
“For what?”
I frown because I’m not sure what he’s not understanding. “He…wants to continue practicing.”
Reid gives nothing away about how he feels about it. If he’s happy, annoyed, thrilled, content, or plain agitated to be here, which is puzzling. I’ve never seen a man just openly stare at someone with zero emotion and expect the other to keep talking.
Which is what I force myself to keep doing.
“Andy is—”
“If you don’t get through warm-ups, you don’t do practice,” he says firmly, then lifts his massive shoulders as if to stamp that into print.
“Well, I don’t think he knew that. No one has ever kicked him off the ice before.”
Reid snorts and averts his eyes. “Has Weston done anything with these kids before?”
