Page 79 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
No one has asked me about the scarves I’ve been wearing all week, and I’m just tired.
But maybe hanging out with my father is what I need, so I agreed.
He picks me up an hour later and drives me to the public ice rink. It’s already crowded with people who skate counterclockwise around the oval. We park and stare at it, and I let out a little laugh.
“You probably could’ve gotten us into the arena,” I point out.
He chuckles, too, running his hand down his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Yeah, but this has a hot chocolate stand. And I sort of expected it to be quieter.”
In the last week, temperatures have plummeted. The rink, which is hosted and maintained by the mayor’s office, is situated in the park across from City Hall. It was just installed earlier this week, I think.
“I brought Perri’s skates, but I also got you a pair to take home… in case you want to break them in and do this again.”
I glance at him. A black beanie covers his hair and the tips of his ears. Black jacket. We match, him and I. I’ve got a black headband warming my ears and a black winter jacket zipped up to my throat. A thick scarf is wrapped over it just in case.
He goes to the back to get the skates. I open my door and swing my legs out, breathing in the cold air.
Which is how I hear someone call, “Hey, Coach!”
Dad turns, frowning at Oliver and Penn. They have their hockey skates slung over their shoulders, and they come up to him from the other side of the vehicle.
Which means they don’t see me until Oliver peeks into the bag in the trunk and sees two sets.
Or maybe three, since Dad mentioned buying me a pair.
Oliver rounds the back bumper and stops short. His face looks worse after a week of healing, all that damage from his fight with Carter. Or maybe it’s from their fight ring. Even though they haven’t lost at home, that could’ve been a lie.
I don’t really think I can trust anything they tell me.
“You two are supposed to be resting,” Dad says to them. “We have a game tomorrow.”
“We just wanted to check out the new rink,” Penn says. “If we knew you were going to be here, we would’ve skipped it.”
His last words are for me, his gaze finding mine through the glass.
Ouch.
“Those yours?” Oliver points to the bag.
I can’t see them, so I shrug.
“They’re Perri’s,” Dad says. “We’re going to try them out, although they might be too small.”
Oliver wrinkles his nose. “Figure skates, though? Really?”
I make the same face.
“Okay, Syd.” Dad laughs. “I guessed you might react like that. Which is why I got you these.”
He produces hockey skates. Oliver, still in the space between our truck and the car beside us and blocking Dad from reaching me, takes them from him.
I meet his gaze. He doesn’t seem angry with me… I actually don’t know how to read the expression covering his face. And I certainly don’t know how to react when he puts his knee down on the truck’s running board and picks up my foot.
He unlaces my boot and tugs it off.
I’m having a Cinderella moment, and it’s really fucking weird.
True to the fairy tale, the shoe—err, skate—is a perfect fit. In that it’s the right size anyway. They’re brand-new, which means it’s going to suck skating on them today. I have no doubt everyone knows it, but it’s just one of those things.