Chapter Twenty-Five #2
My heart squeezed so tightly in my chest I couldn’t help my visceral reaction — tears glazed my eyes.
Did he mean that?
The reporter laughed. “That is so sweet. You seem like a great team.”
“We are,” Nathan agreed, squeezing my shoulder. “On and off the ice.”
The words cradled me like a newborn, comforting and warm. If I were someone else watching this on TV, I would believe it. I’d see a devoted husband bragging about his accomplished wife. I’d think they were perfect.
For a second, I believed it, too.
Maybe that dinner party was just a bad night. Maybe I was making too much of it. Nathan was here, right by my side — saying all the right things, doing all the right things.
I didn’t realize I’d fallen quiet until the reporter wrapped up.
“Thank you both so much,” she said. “We can’t wait to see how much Skate for Change raises tonight.”
“Thank you,” I replied, forcing my voice through the tightness in my throat.
The camera light cut off. The reporter complimented us again, talking about how good it would look on the ten o’clock segment. Nathan thanked her, shook her hand, and draped his arm around me as we stepped away.
“You were great,” he said, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Perfect, sweetheart. Just perfect.”
I swallowed, nodding. “You too.”
He smiled, then his eyes darted beyond me as he spotted one of the owners. He excused himself, leaving me standing in the glow of the lights, the praise still clinging to my skin like static.
You’re fine, I told myself. Look how wonderful he is. Look how much he supports you.
My wrist twinged when I adjusted my bracelets.
I shook it off and headed toward the glass to check on the ice.
Kids dotted the rink, clinging to the boards, shuffling along in slow, terrified inches, or zooming past in fearless streaks. Parents and fans in jerseys filled the lower bowl, some on their feet, some taking videos. Mariah Carey belted out from the speakers, her voice bouncing around the rafters.
And in the middle of it all, I saw him.
Shane.
He was a youthful kind of handsome tonight, sporting a team jacket and a knit beanie pulled low.
He wore deep-cut laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
A little boy clung to his hand, skates splayed, legs shaking like a baby deer.
Shane was bent slightly at the waist, talking to him, pointing with his free hand to show him where to put his weight.
“Bend your knees,” I read on his lips. “Trust your edges.”
The boy wobbled. Shane steadied him with one hand at his back.
The boy tried again, found his balance, and glided just for a second without panicking.
He laughed, bright and free, looking up at Shane for approval, who met him with a wide grin and a high five.
As if he sensed me, Shane glanced up.
Our eyes locked across the ice, and my stomach somersaulted.
For a moment, the noise fell away. There was just the cold air seeping through the glass, my breath fogging the surface, and his gaze holding mine.
His expression softened, a question in his blue-gray eyes.
You okay?
I didn’t know what to answer back.
Someone tugged on my sleeve.
“Um… excuse me?”
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from Shane to look down.
A young boy stood beside me, maybe eight or nine, cheeks pink under a too-big knit hat, Sweet Dreams wristband snug around his arm. His laces were loose, skates practically falling off his feet.
“Hi there,” I said, forcing my smile back into place. “Having fun?”
He nodded so hard his hat slipped over one eye. “Yeah. I wanted to say… thank you.”
“Oh,” I said, thrown. “You’re welcome. For what am I being thanked for?”
“For this,” he said, gesturing out at the ice. “My mom said we couldn’t do stuff like this anymore. But then she said this one was free.” He rocked back on his blades. “I’ve never skated before. It’s the coolest thing ever.”
Warmth flooded my chest, hot enough to burn through everything else for a second.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I told him. “And I hope you fall a little bit. That means you’re trying something new.”
He laughed. The sound took me back to when Georgie was his age, and my chest squeezed tighter. “I already fell three times.”
“Perfect,” I said. “You’re doing it right, then.”
“Mrs. Black?”
The woman I assumed was his mom approached then, balancing two Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate. She looked tired in a way I recognized, her smile soft.
“Sorry if he’s bothering you,” she said. “He just really wanted to say thank you.”
“He’s not bothering me at all,” I replied quickly. “I’m happy he found me.”
She hesitated, then shifted the cups to one hand so she could touch my arm. “We… um… we’re on the Sweet Dreams list for beds,” she said. “My son’s been sleeping on the floor since we had to move in with my sister. We both have. They said… they said he’d have a bed by Christmas.”
My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow.
“I know it’s just a bed,” she rushed on, “but—”
“It’s not just a bed,” I cut in gently. “It’s a place to land. A place that’s his. It matters. He matters.”
Her eyes shone in the way of someone being understood. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For this night. For… everything.”
My smile wobbled. “Thank you,” I said back. “I’m really glad you’re here. And if you give me your name, I’d like to see if we can get a bed for you, too.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I really just want to make sure he—”
“Please,” I said softly, hoping my smile communicated that I understood where she was at and wanted to meet her there. “I’d really love to.”
With a watery smile, she nodded, providing me her name and number on the list. I jotted it down in my phone, making a mental note, too.
After, she guided her son back toward the ice, and I watched them go, my heart too full and too empty all at once.
This is why you stay, I reminded myself. This is why you swallow what you swallow. Look what you get to do. Look who you get to help.
I pressed my fingers lightly against my wrist, feeling the dull ache there.
One does not cancel out the other, another small, stubborn part of me whispered.
I ignored it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out to find a text from Georgie.
Little Brother: Saw a clip of the event on social media. Wow, Sis. You really did your thing. Proud of you. Call me later!
My smile was so big it hurt my cheeks as I thumbed a reply, and then it was back to work.
By the time the scrimmage was over, the donation thermometer on the jumbotron had shot up higher than I dared to hope. The announcer made a big show of the final number: $76,208.
Our goal had been $25,000.
Kids screamed, fans cheered, confetti cannons popped. Ben and Daddy P did a victory lap with a pack of teenagers trying to keep up with them.
It was a huge win.
We did it.
The night wound down slowly, families heading out of the cold arena and into the warm Florida night. Volunteers folded tables, stacked chairs, and broke down signs. The soundtrack shifted from Christmas music to the hum of the Zamboni and the clattering of skates being boxed.
I moved through the concourse with my tablet tucked to my chest, checking boxes. Nathan had disappeared into the bowels of the arena with a man I didn’t recognize and a couple of executives a while ago, and I hadn’t seen him since.
My wrist throbbed when I try to lift a bin of packed-up supplies — tape, extension cords, LED lights, and the like. I should have been able to lift it no problem, but it sent a zing up to my elbow.
I breathed out slowly and sat it back down.
“You know there are interns for that, right?”
His voice slid over my shoulders like a warm coat.
Shane stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his team jacket, hair curling from under his beanie. He didn’t look like the coach I knew everyone else saw him as — that stern, dialed-in, unshakeable man.
He looked like the boy who once taught me how to skate backward on a frozen-over pond.
“I thought you’d left,” I said, fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
“One of the benefits of being an old man,” he said wryly. “Nobody expects you to stick around for the big clean up — especially after nine o’clock.”
I huffed out a laugh I didn’t really feel. “And yet, here you are.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I like defying expectations.”
His gaze traveled over the half-broken-down event — empty raffle tables, sagging banners, a few stragglers in Sweet Dreams shirts laughing as they carried supplies into the tunnel. When his eyes came back to me, they softened.
Stay away from him.
Nathan’s words echoed in my mind, but I shoved them right into the same attic I was forcing most of my thoughts into, adding to the list of warnings I chose to ignore.
“Gotta say, you blew away every expectation I had for tonight,” Shane said. “This was… huge, Ari. For the kids, for the foundation. For the team, too, whether they realize it or not.”
The compliment landed deep, under all the layers of numbness and performance.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “That means a lot.”
He took a step closer, enough that I could see the darker gray ring around his blue irises. My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
“How’s the wrist?” he asked.
The question was gentle, but it still felt like a spotlight. Instinctively, I tucked my injured hand closer to my body, my bracelets chiming together with the movement.
“It’s fine,” I said too quickly. “Just… sore. The pan was heavy.”
His brow lifted, the faintest hint of skepticism tugging at his mouth.
“Right,” he said. “The pan.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “What else would it be?”
His jaw clenched once, a tell I knew as well as my own reflection. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… maybe let someone else do the heavy lifting for a bit. At least until you can open a jar of pickles without swearing.”
A real laugh bubbled up, surprising both of us.
“There she is,” he murmured, so soft I almost didn’t hear it.
The bin on the table seemed to grow heavier just from looking at it.