Chapter 16 James
It’s Saturday morning, I’ve got a coffee in my hand, I’ve had a full night’s sleep, and I’m on my way to pick up Maria, Sue and Dylan,who’s apparently been awake since five a.m.
Despite the fact that we’re heading to an activity designed for them, I am the one freaking out. Not only because I’ll be doing something I haven’t done in years, but because of certain conversations in the dark.
The defeated frame of Cory Malkovich version number four has occupied an abnormal space in my mind since somberly climbing out of my car, and moping through that wonky front door.
Over the years, I’ve listened to more than enough of my sister’s psychoanalytical blabbering for me to consider myself a quasi-expert, but any idiot could recognize why the kid changes personas like I do socks.
He’s so desperate for approval, so keen to prove his dad wrong, and his mom right, mean-spirited teasing or lighthearted chirps about his height or glasses are taken in the same manner.
They all hurt. They all twist the dagger that one of the people, who is supposed to love him the most, inserted.
All in all, I’ve a feeling that our conversation got us closer to the core of each other than anyone outside our immediate family has been for a very, very long time.
I’m yet to decide if that’s a good thing or not.
Nor do I have time to do so, because when I pull up to the curb in front of our place, four smiling faces are eager, ready and waiting to go.
“We don’t have to be there for an hour.” I remind Faith, who’s too busy helping Dylan into the back to answer. Sue and Maria climb in beside him, then Faith joins me up front.
“I know we don’t have to be there for an hour—”
“Just said that.”
“But the guys are ready, and Sue and I figured that’s a good thing, because they can take the time to explore, make themselves comfortable and you know, explore. I think that’s imperative. Do you? I do … Do you?”
Pressing my lips together to stop my smile, I place my hand on Faith’s and give it a squeeze. “Faithy, Sweetheart. Are you nervous by any chance?”
“No,” she says.
“Yes,” Sue says. “She’s also had four coffees in thirty minutes.”
Eyes wide, I let out a loud whistle. “Okay then, nothing for you when we stop at Starbucks on the way.”
“Starbucks, no! Do we have to? I’ll smell it and then I’ll be done.”
“Yes we have too. I have yet to have my minimum caffeine hit, and there is no way in hell I am doing this sober.”
Brady Basse really does smile all the time.
At first I was skeptical of that. No one can be that happy. Especially someone who was so recently deprived of their hockey dreams. But now that I’m getting to know him, my wariness has dimmed to a mild distrust.
As expected, we are the first to arrive at Green Line Ice and Brady—his dimpled cheeks, and booming laugh—are on the ice placing cones.
It’s Dylan’s excitable clap that alerts him to our presence, and that smile expands.
“Yes! Dude! You made it, I’m stoked.” I’m not exactly sure which of us dudes he’s referring to, but my coffee has kicked in, his enthusiasm is contagious and I wave like an idiot regardless.
“Lotte, Cory,” he bellows over his shoulder. “We have our first guests.”
Ooh dear God.
Like I’ve taken a bullet straight to the chest, my arm drops to my side and the rest of me almost goes with it.
Cory fucking Malkovich, the man I can seemingly not escape, comes strutting in from an office, the woman I now know to be Lotte—former Bears captain Noah Petterson’s fiancee—following not long after.
There’s not one part of me that can bear looking at Cory right now, so I focus on the blonde I have no inappropriate sexual attraction to.
Surprisingly, it’s not a chore. There is simply no other way to describe her but adorable.
Her blonde locks are piled on the top of her head in a high pony Ariana Grande would be proud to call her own.
The cutest plaid skirt and pink sweater I’ve ever seen covers her tiny frame, and her eyes are so big and wide, it’s almost comical.
From what I’ve been told, Lotte is part owner of this rink, and started inclusive skate and hockey programs for kids a few months back.
This is their first such class for adults.
I have no clue why the hell Cory, wearing a beanie he has no right looking so hot in, is here and quite frankly I don’t care.
I really. Truly. Don’t.
Not one bit.
There’s only four participants in this first session and they and their families arrive at the same time that Lotte and what’s-his-face make it to where we are sitting.
Shit I’m sitting. I didn’t even realize.
Lined up before us are skates, four adult-sized skate training stands, some skate sleighs, grips, a collection of fidget and sensory toys piled into a basket, and Cory in obscenely tight athletic pants. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking at me. I can sense it.
“Welcome everyone,” Brady says, of course with a grin. “I’m Brady. This is Lotte, and this is Cory. Who’s ready to have some fun?”
“I’m ready to leave,” I mutter. “Does that count?” Faith, who’s sliding off the seat to help Dylan into his skates, whacks me in the calf. “Ow, what was that for?”
“You know exactly what it was for. Stop being a whiny bitch and help me.”
Brady hears this, and barks out such a rough cough of laughter, I fear he may choke on his tongue. “Faith!”
“You hear what I have to put up with, Brady?” I pout. “She’s spending too much time around you hockey boys. Anyone would think you’re a bad influence.”
“I’m sure I can handle the Bears. After all, I survived you and your flow in our teens.
” In my periphery I see Cory’s jaw drop as he trips onto the ice, righting himself just before he face plants.
Until now, Brady and the coaching team have been the only ones to know I’m an ex-player. Guess the secret’s out.
It takes longer than one might imagine to get Dyl’s skates on, partly because of fitting his AFO’s, ankle and foot orthotics, and partly because he’s so excited.
Though he hasn’t been in months, he always loved skating and time hasn’t seemed to have dulled his enthusiasm.
There was a time where I used to bring him along with me to practice, but when I quit playing, I couldn’t handle being at the rink.
Once again, it fell to Dad who stepped in, instinctively knowing what he needed to do.
I’d kill for a sliver of that intuition right now.
Within a second of Dylan’s helmet being fitted, he’s off, knocking Faith to her ass in his bounding toward the gate.
Shit.
We should have divided and conquered. I should have got my own on while Faith helped Dyl.
“It’s our first time.” Faith reminds me as I drop to a knee, cursing under my breath as I struggle with my laces.
“Next time we’ll know.” Panic surges, Dylan, or someone else could get hurt and it will be my fault.
But when I raise my eyes I see my freak out may be premature.
At center ice, smack-bang on the face-off spot is Cory and my big brother, holding hands, spinning in slow clockwise circles.
In silence we watch and wave, Faith clinging to my leg like I’m the only thing telling her this is real.
“Always clockwise,” she eventually giggles, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“Look at him. He’s so happy. I think he’s humming every time you wave to him. ”
She’s right. He is. Dylan’s smile is wide and contagious, as is Cory’s.
I’m not sure how long I squat on the floor watching them, but enough time has passed for Lotte, Brady, and the three other skaters to have joined them.
They’re not who I can’t take my eyes from though.
On their next pass, Cory shoots me a cheeky wink.
My heart does a slow, painful clench.
Oh dear.
“Why Doc. Plum. I do believe you’ve been keeping secrets.
” Exhausted but not yet willing to leave the ice, Dylan happily piled his long legs into the skate sled I’m pushing, snuggling beneath the blanket, while the ever cheeky Cory glides backwards alongside us.
He’s tried to get me alone several times over the course of the morning, and I’ve avoided each attempt like I would a sex talk from my Nanna. “You used to play hockey?”
Ignoring his scent, which today for some reason is giving fresh raspberries and mint, I nod. “I did, yes. A long, long, long, time ago.” This confirmation has Cory practically levitating. “And I wasn’t keeping secrets, it just seemed irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? How could hockey ever be irrelevant? That’s like saying Spider-Man’s web slinging is insignificant.”
The mask of indifference I struggle to maintain around this infuriatingly likable man, slips. “Careful, Mr. Malkovich. Your inner nerd is showing.”
“I know.” He grins. “Just giving you the authentic experience you seemed to enjoy it last night.” Noticing Dylan raising, opening and closing his hand, I come to a gentle stop and pass the water bottle sitting in the holder down to him.
“He does that when he’s thirsty?” Cory asks.
“Yep, it’s that for drink, and he’ll tap his chin when he’s hungry.”
“Hungry and thirsty,” he says, repeating the gestures. “Thirsty, hey Dyl. Ya know, I get that feeling a lot around your bro.”
Ignoring his flirting, I point my right index finger and poke it into my left palm. “And this one, means toilet.”
Back at the handles, we set off again albeit a little haphazardly as I use one hand to dab the perspiration building on my brow.
Not an impending anxiety attack. Or fatal heart infliction, I remind myself.
It’s the too close presence of a certain blonde.
“About that, last night I mean. How were things when you got home? Did you have the chance to talk to your mom?”
“Nope. She was asleep, or pretending to be, and she was gone before I woke up. Pops, my grandpa, basically lives with us, but he’s suddenly taken a vow of silence. My sister Cherry’s as clueless as I am and Billie is a baby and can’t talk.”
“Billie is Cherry’s daughter, and she’s the one that called to check on you?” Much to Dylan’s delight, Cory nudges me from the sleigh handles, and pushes off on another lap of the rink.
“He is. It was, and yeah, she’s my twin sister.”
“I have a sister!” You’re a fucking idiot.
Doing an impressive job of suppressing his laughter, Cory simply smirks, and points to Faith. “I know. I’ve met her. Many times. You’ve met mine too. At O’Reilly’s, actually. In the parking lot.”
“That was your sister? But you—”
“Called her sweetheart? Yeah. Your affection for Faithy inspired me. And hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying to make another guy jealous now, can you?”
It’s perhaps for the best that Dylan chooses this moment, as I ride the precipice of return flirting, to declare he wants out of the sled. Discontent humming can quickly escalate so I nod towards the bench, and follow Cory who gets the message and leads us off the ice.
I’m incredibly impressed, and to be honest, kind of turned on by Cory’s obvious talent for working with people.
He oozes empathy and there’s been no hint of patronization in his conversations with those he’s supporting.
I have questions a plenty concerning how he came to work here, and regarding his family, but none of it’s verbalized because Faith stops before us and gets to work un-bundling Dyl from the blanket he’s cocooned in.
“How was that, Dyl?” she asks as the first skate thuds to the ground. “I can’t believe how long you lasted. Would you like to come back next week?” Pleased to almost be free, he rocks back and forth in his seat, eyes bright as he nods.
“You held up much better than your brother did,” Cory adds. “I thought we might have to roll you out of the sled and lift him in.” Dylan and Faith find this hilarious of course, but in truth he’s not far off the mark.
“Skating is harder than I remember. The ice is, too. My ass is killing me.” It’s out before I can stop it. There’s some gentle snorting, and no one says anything, but if Cory’s right eyebrow goes any higher, it’ll be the first inhabitant of Mars.
Even though Dylan wanted out of the sled, he also doesn’t want to walk, so after a mad dash to Faith’s car, I return with the wheelchair we carry for such an emergency.
The three Green Line staff help us carry our things back out, Lotte and Brady helping load the trunk while Faith and Sue help Maria, and Cory assists me to transfer Dyl from the chair into the backseat.
Once that’s accomplished, everyone seems suitably exhausted.
“Thank you for being our first clients,” squeaks Lotte, who’s clearly fatigued but also beaming and bouncing on the balls of her toes. “The grant we’ve received allows each participant ten free sessions, so we hope you’ll all be back for lots more fun.”
“And if you’re ever interested in a private session, let me know,” Cory whispers, foot tapping against mine. “Maybe I can help loosen those glutes.”