Page 28

The coach had his back to us, running the drill from the boards. Then he turned to rotate the groups and I saw his face.

I closed my eyes.

Lester Hale.

"Thank you for doing this," Janine said. "For her."

"It's nothing."

She was quiet for a second. "Do you miss it? Being on the ice?"

On the far end, a girl lost her edge on the turn and took two others down with her. A boy at the back of the line was leaning on his stick like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The puck slid past three of them and nobody noticed.

"Sometimes."

Janine held her coffee in both hands. "I don't know how to skate. I've never been on the ice in my life."

"Never?"

"Hazel's been trying to get me out there for months. But I'm not falling on my face in front of her and a dozen other parents." She shook her head. "And it's not exactly a soft landing."

I thought about it. Janine on the ice, holding onto my arm with both hands. Her grip tightening every time she lost her balance. I'd have to hold her close to keep her steady.

"I could teach you if you want to learn how to skate."

Janine looked at me and smiled. "You're not gonna laugh at me when I fall?"

"I won't let you fall."

"That's it, baby! Let's go!" A dad three rows down was on his feet, clapping. On the ice, his kid had just scored on a breakaway and was skating back to the line with his stick in the air.

Practice ran another forty minutes. Janine watched every drill. She couldn't read the mechanics, but she could read her daughter. Hazel was fast for her age and she read the play better than most of the kids out there. When a loose puck came to her, she went for it with her whole body.

The backward crossovers were killing her. She was leading with her hips, muscling through each one instead of letting her shoulders set the direction. Every time she tried to link them at speed, she lost the edge and had to reset. The footwork was close. The sequencing was wrong.

"Harder, Hazel! Push through it! You're not committing!"

Hale's voice carried across the rink. Hazel tried again, pushing off with everything she had. She lost her edge and had to reset.

"Again! More speed this time!"

She didn't need more speed. She needed someone to put their hands on her shoulders and show her where the turn actually started.

After practice, they opened the rink up for anyone who wanted it. Dads who played in college got on with their kids. Teenagers worked on their shots without a coach breathing down their necks. It's the same at every rink I've ever been to.

I pulled my gear bag up onto the bench and laced up. The new boots were stiff, but it wouldn't take long to break them in.

I stood up from the bench. "If I fall, you didn't see anything."

"Something tells me that's not going to happen."

I stepped onto the ice and pushed off toward the far end where Hazel was standing with her stick, watching the older kids shoot.

My edges caught the ice and my body found the lean before I told it to. Ten years off the ice and my legs remembered every shift, every transfer, every angle.

I made myself slow down. I was here for Hazel, not for whatever was happening in my chest right now.

She saw me coming and her mouth fell open.