Page 80 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
You deal with it, and then the skates get better.
He puts on the other one and does up the laces. I’m having flashbacks to my father in the same position, easing any worries about the kids he coaches in a low voice while he tugs at my skates.
“Good?” Dad asks.
Oliver rises, and I nod.
“They’re perfect. Thank you.”
“One problem.” Oliver glances around. “You’ll ruin the blade walking across the lot.”
Dad frowns.
“Yeah, that’s—I’ll just take them off and put them back on by the ice?—”
“Nah, I’ve got it.” Oliver steps into my space and slides his arm under the crooks of my knees. The other goes across my lower back, and he easily lifts me out of the truck.
I glare at him.
Dad does, too.
“Ruiz,” Dad warns.
“I’ve got her, sir.” He heads up the path toward the skating rink. It does seem to be thinning out a little. “Have you skated before?”
I don’t answer.
“Silent treatment?” He sighs. “I just want you to know that we’re dealing with him.”
Whatever they did to Bear isn’t enough.
“His actions aren’t going unpunished,” he repeats from earlier.
We get to the section where everyone puts on their skates. The ground is covered in rubber mats. He sets me down.
“Go walk around for a few minutes and come back. Get warm. It’ll help mold the skates to your feet.”
I wave him off, but I do as he says. While Dad, Oliver, and Penn all skate up, I pace in circles around them. Finally, I drop down onto the bench next to my father.
“You could’ve grabbed something secondhand,” I say to him. “Or I could’ve rented a pair…”
He pats my knee. “You kidding me? Now you can come skate during practice like the good old days. You were pretty good, you know.”
“Good at what?”
“Everything. Hell, I’d bet you still are.”
Gosh. My throat closes, and my eyes burn. A change in subject would be grand, but I can’t seem to get any words out. When’s the last time anyone said I was good at something?
Never.
“Sydney…”
I swipe under my eyes. “I’m fine. You should go warm up, old man. I’ll join you once I’ve properly baked these suckers.”
“Okay, Syd.” He pats my knee and rises, jostling Oliver in a way that feels like they’ve known each other a long time—and they like each other.
I don’t really see the appeal.