Chapter Three Daphne
“ O h my God, where are you going? It’s so early,” Maeve whines as I rush into her bedroom to grab my sneakers that she borrowed from me.
A perk of us being the same size everything is that our wardrobes are practically one and the same.
I love Maeve, but she has the memory of a goldfish. Like I told her three times before, I remind her, “I’m meeting up with Melissa at the rink.”
Melissa Miller runs the skating programs at Northern Minnesota University. Including the youth programs as well as the college figure skating team.
“Bring home doughnuts. I’m craving them so badly.” She rolls over in her bed as I slip the shoes on and roll my eyes, chuckling. “And not the gluten-free ones, please.”
“Rude. I’m getting gluten-free doughnuts, and if you’re lucky, I’ll bring your faves too.”
“Fine,” she groans.
“Love you,” I murmur as I walk toward her door.
She shoos me away with her hand. “Love you too.”
Grabbing my bag from the kitchen island counter, I head to the rink on campus to meet up with Melissa. I can’t help but to think of my mom and what her time on campus would’ve been like.
My mom, Audrey, has dedicated her life to skating, coaching countless Olympic medalists before settling down, having me, and then opening and running the rink in our hometown.
But her love story was cut short when my dad passed. I don’t have any memory of him. He died in a car accident when I was only a year old. But I’ve grown up knowing exactly who he is through the stories she’s told.
It’s been her and me since then, us against the world. And I’ve never known anything else or ever felt anything lacking. She’s filled my life with love and happiness. She’s taught me everything I know, especially when it comes to skating.
The passion, the drive, the love for the sport—she poured it all into me.
We had plans for my future and goals that she was helping me achieve.
I spent years winning competitions, dominating everything I entered and competed in.
And then my accident happened … the injury that ended my career, and everything we had dreamed of came crashing down.
At first, it felt like the end of the world. But my mom never made me feel less than for not being able to compete anymore.
After a while, thanks to my mom’s help, I found a new passion. Teaching kids, helping them get better, and watching them fall in love with skating—it fulfills me more than I ever could’ve imagined.
But running a rink or a skating organization isn’t so easily done. Which is why I’m here—to get my degree. After that, I’ll get to coach alongside my mom and run her rink with her.
As much as my mom values hard work, she also wants me to enjoy my time in college and have a little fun before I start full-time at the rink. It’s not that I don’t enjoy other things. I’d just rather be on the ice and spending time with her.
While Maeve might have initiated the idea of transferring to school here, my mom provided the logistics. This house was my grandparents’. We used to spend every summer here, out on the lake, having a campfire under the stars. S’mores and fire-roasted hot dogs.
The memories flit through my mind, and my heart aches because I know I’ll never get to re-enact those memories again—at least not with my grandparents.
They passed away a few years ago, leaving the house to my mom, and my mom gave it to me …
temporarily at least. It’s mine and Maeve’s until next summer.
Knowing Maeve, I’m sure she will be creating all new kinds of memories for the both of us that we’re sure to never forget.
She’s incessantly begging me to throw a party before school starts, wanting to invite Mason and his teammates, specifically the cute ones she found on their team roster.
She likes to use hockey rosters as dating profiles, carefully sifting through the players she likes, finding their socials, and “accidentally” stumbling upon their DMs.
I’ve got to give it to her. It’s worked wonders for her thus far, but she just hasn’t found one she wants to keep.
Mason’s hazel eyes flash in my mind, and I know that no matter who his teammates are and regardless of anyone on his roster, annoyingly enough, none of them would compare to him and his perfect smile.
Forcing his image from my thoughts, I hop into my Jeep Wrangler and head to the rink, hitting play on my Cruising playlist. “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield begins playing through the speakers.
I remember where the campus is from my time in Wasona Grove as a kid. My mom would take us there, and she was well welcomed by the staff, who were well aware of her credentials and time spent at NMU, both as an athlete and faculty.
Even though my mom has been a superstar skater and coach in this industry, she’s never made me feel bad about not being able to perform again.
If anything, she’s the reason I got out of bed most days afterward, the reason I continue to get on the ice.
She didn’t let my passion and optimism slip away like I was ready to do.
Thankfully, the campus of NMU is only a couple of miles away. I pull into the nearly empty parking lot, tingles dancing down my arms as excitement begins to bubble inside of me.
Melissa and my mom went to school together here and even competed together when they were younger. They’ve been friends for a couple of decades.
When Melissa heard that I was going to be transferring to school here, she immediately let my mom know that she would find a place for me.
I jumped on the opportunity to help with her youth classes.
I knew I would miss coaching my old kiddos, and this would fill that hole in my chest. I also needed a job and now I get to do what I love.
Grabbing my duffel bag, I slide out of my Jeep and lock it before heading inside of the arena through the big double doors.
Melissa is waiting for me in the entryway, greeting me with a smile when she looks up from her phone and spots me. “Daphne,” she exhales out slowly, her shoulders relaxing and a gleam flashing in her eyes. “Gosh, you look so much like your mom.”
A compliment I’ve received countless times over the years.
“Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.”
She embraces me with a hug and pulls away. “You too! I think you are going to love it here.”
“Me too.” I smile up at her as she starts walking down the hallway.
I catch up, strolling beside her as we pad down the tiled floor. The walls are decorated with different team posters, flyers, and trophies.
“This rink hosts NMU hockey, skating, and curling teams. There are three sheets of ice total, but the big one is obviously the main one, set up for the hockey team with the logo and sponsors. But when our school’s teams aren’t practicing or playing a game, we utilize it for other programs or rent it out to different clubs and teams.
“My staff manages the scheduling, and, well, everything that happens inside this building. Including what you’ll be helping with—our Mini Mammoth program.
We teach prolific students from ages three through thirteen, broken up into different age categories.
The one you’ll be working with primarily is the group of ages eight to ten.
There are seven students, and they practice Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from six to eight p.m. on rink three.
Eventually, that schedule will change when classes start, and we’ll have those dates and times out soon. Will that work for you?”
My heart is beating out of my chest with excitement about everything to come. “That all sounds great to me!”
She nods proudly. “Good. We have a class on rink two right now if you want to join me and watch for a few minutes before getting to the boring paperwork.”
“Yes, please,” I answer eagerly.
Turning down a hallway that leads onto a skywalk, I spot a couple of guys wearing NMU Mammoths hockey clothes, heading our way.
Even if they weren’t sporting the gear, I’d be able to tell they played hockey. They have the right build—fit, toned, but still lean. On top of that, they carry themselves with the required arrogance of every hockey player I’ve ever met.
One of them, with light brown hair, smiles at Melissa with a devious gleam in his blue eyes. “Hey, Ms. Miller. Looking good.”
She seems hesitant to respond. “Hi, Chet. Thank you, but as I said before, please stop giving me compliments. I am older than your mother.”
A laugh slips past my lips, drawing their attention like sharks to blood, and they immediately drop their conversation.
“Who’s this? New skater?” Chet asks as he and the other player stop directly in our path at the edge of the skywalk, sun shining in behind them.
I don’t know why their conversation makes me feel uneasy. Maybe I’m just nervous to see Mason again, and I don’t exactly want him to hear of my arrival from his flirty teammates. But at the same time, screw him. It doesn’t matter how he finds out because he doesn’t matter.
Right? RIGHT .
“This is Daphne. She’ll be a new coach for the Mini Mammoths.” Melissa introduces me, gesturing with her hand.
I give a polite wave.
“Oh, really? Well, I’m Chet.” He slaps his friend’s chest. “This is Ross. I’m sure we’ll see you around the rinks. Please …” He pauses, and I swear to God his eyes twinkle as he continues, “ Please let us know if we can do anything—absolutely anything —for you.”
While hockey players are born with an ability to flirt, these ones should quickly learn that I have zero interest in ever dating a hockey player again.
But until then … I wouldn’t mind having a little fun. What’s the harm?
“Oh, you are too sweet, Chet.” I bat my eyelashes, glancing at the blue drink in his hand. “I could actually really use a Gatorade.”
Chet’s smile falters just slightly as his jaw unhinges.
Ross bursts out laughing, his head tipping forward and his damp dark brown hair falling down his forehead.
Chet stares at me, dumbfounded, as Ross takes the unopened bottle from him and hands it to me.
“He did say anything, didn’t he?”