Chapter 9 Clara
CLARA
Skate skiing with Dash every morning was my escape from the rest of the world and the small-town drama unfolding ten miles away.
I'd grown up nordic skiing, but once I tried skate skiing, which was almost like figure skating, I was hooked.
"Come on, Dash." I whistled and clapped my hands.
Dash's ears flapped as he bounded down the trail.
"It's time for your favorite part." I held up his harness, and he whimpered in excitement as I clipped it the clip at my waist.
Dash started slowly, waiting for my command.
"Let's gooooo," I shouted. His muscled shoulders gleamed in the early morning sunlight as he pulled me down the trail.
We zipped along, my skis humming as the cabin came into view.
"Whoa, Dash." I unclipped him, and he beelined to the door.
I took off my skis and stopped at my truck to start it up.
I left it idling in the driveway.
The second I stepped inside, my phone buzzed. It was time to face reality.
The Chance Rapids Community Page had divided the town into two distinct camps: those who wanted to save the rink, and those who had been fooled by the King Development proposal.
Dash leaned against my legs as I scrolled through the battlefield of comments.
My grandfather built that rink with his own hands.
Clara Dalton needs to go back to school and take some courses in economics.
Dash pawed at his food bowl.
"Sorry, Dasher. This is taking over my life." I set my phone face-down, filled his bowl, and resisted the urge to pick it up again. Other than the crackle of the wood-stove and Dash's kibble chomping, the cabin was silent.
I hadn't seen Beck since that day in the dressing room. Part of me was relieved; the other part wondered if there was a speck of the old boy I knew in there somewhere, one who would try to make it right.
The Sugar Peaks café provided a direct line to the town gossip train. Beck had been seen at The Last Chance and had been visiting with business owners.
But he hadn't come to see me. Or get another coffee.
Dash curled up in his bed next to the fire, and I knelt down to kiss his head. "See you this afternoon."
My breath came out in puffs as I jogged to the truck.
When I tugged on the freezing door handle with my bare hands, my heart sank.
It didn't budge. I pulled harder. "Shit.
Shit. Shit." Blowing warm breath onto my hands, I tried again.
It wasn't frozen. I must have bumped the door lock after I started it.
Running to the cabin, Dash looked up as I burst inside and sprinted to the junk drawer, willing the spare key to be inside it.
A random battery rolled to the front of the drawer as I tugged it open and pawed through takeout menus, stickers, and rolls of scotch tape.
"No, no." This was the only place it could be.
I emptied the contents onto the counter, and the leather tag from the spare set stuck out from an envelope. "Thank you,” I said out loud.
Inside the envelope was a stack of old photos.
My hands shook as I took the top photo from the envelope.
I remembered every second of that night and could almost smell it.
Two kids, Beck and me, sitting at the bleachers at the axe-throwing contest. Our arms entwined just before we took our first bites of corndogs.
String lights glowed overhead, and whoever had taken the photo had caught us both mid-laugh.
Those two innocent kids seemed like strangers from a completely different lifetime. Sighing, I tucked the photo back into the envelope.
Fifteen Years Ago
"You'll freeze in that jacket." Beck pulled off his Bobcats hoodie.
My teeth chattered. "I'm fine."
He ignored my protest and pulled the sweatshirt over my head like I was a child. Giving in, I lifted my arms. The fabric was warm from his body and smelled like cedar from the mill. He must've worn it on his last shift.
"Better?"
"Much." The hoodie swallowed me completely, and I loved it. "Now you're the one who's going to freeze."
"Come here." His hands found my waist under the hoodie.
He skated backward, pulling me with him. We had the outdoor rink to ourselves.
Our bodies thudded together as he stopped at center ice.
I glided into him and we came to a stop under the old scoreboard.
"Wait right there,” Beck said. He skated backward, looking at me until he reached the announcer’s booth.
He leaned inside. The floodlights at the corners of the ice surface flickered before going dark.
"Look up." He shouted and skated back, wrapping his arms around me. I leaned against him to look at the sky. It was a rare clear night in Chance Rapids and the moon seemed bigger than usual.
"Wow. That's huge."
"It's a supermoon. They call it the Cold Moon." His warm breath tickled my earlobe.
"It's brighter than the floodlights." Our breathing had synced.
Carefully turning so I didn't slip out of his embrace, I tilted my head back to look up at him.
He kissed me. His lips were warm, but tender.
We took our time together under the moon, there was no rush, no end game. That's when I knew I loved Beck.
When we glided apart, his eyes shimmered. "Are you alright?" I pulled off my mitten to swipe the tear from his eye.
"I used to come here and bang pucks," Beck whispered. "When Dad was drinking. It's where I came when I needed to think."
He never talked about his life at home, or his dad, who had died in a car crash years earlier. A DUI that was his fault.
"It's where I perfected my slapshot."
"I'm sorry you had to go through all that."
He shrugged and kissed me again. "I want some good memories here. That's why I brought you here.”
“It’s a beautiful night.”
His hands dropped to hold mine. “There's one more thing I want to show you, but you have to stand over there." He pointed to the hash marks at the far end.
"Why?"
"Don't ask questions, Clara Dalton. Skate your gorgeous ass over there, but give me my hoodie first."
He was acting weird. Shivering the instant I removed the hoodie, I tossed it to him, rubbing my arms with my thin gloves.
"Where?" I shouted as I skated toward the bleacher side of the rink.
"Right there. Stop,” he shouted.
I skidded to a stop.
"Stand like this." His voice echoed off the cliffs at the far end of the lake. He struck a pose with one arm up and the other wrapped around his waist. "And look down at the ice."
It was the opening pose to my short program.
Beck had watched my practices, but I hadn't realized he'd committed any part of it, namely the opening pose, to memory. I settled into the familiar position, and the speakers crackled. Swan Lake floated through the chilly night air.
He didn't have to tell me anything else.
My body went into autopilot, and the stars whizzed in my peripheral vision as I glided through the program: the final jump, the lutz at the crescendo of the piece.
This was crappy outdoor ice, and I was wearing jeans, but fueled with adrenaline and love, I reached my toe-pick back and launched into a perfect triple lutz.
Beck screamed from the booth. "Wooohoooo. That's what I'm talking about."
He skated toward me at full speed, scooped me into his arms, and planted a kiss on my lips.
This one was aggressive. I moaned into his mouth as a surge of desire pulsed through me.
The lutz, the moon, the love of my life holding me in his arms - it was the best night of my life.
Beck's legs worked beneath me as he skated across the rink.
I trusted him completely, and leaned into the warmth of his chest as the wind whipped through my hair.
He delivered me to the boards, setting me down gently on top of them. I wrapped my legs around him, the blades of my skates clinking together behind his back.
"I love you, Beck."
"I love you, Clara." He tugged me closer, his erection obvious against the buttons of his jeans. I didn't care if anyone was lurking in the shadows. My fingers slipped into the waistband as we continued kissing hungrily.
Beck cleared his throat and pulled my fumbling fingers from the button on his jeans. "I have to tell you something."
"What?" I whispered.
"I'm getting out, Clara."
"I know."
Beck rubbed the back of my gloves with his thumbs. "No, I don't mean someday. Clara. I'm leaving this year."
"Oh," I whispered. I thought we'd have more time together. I needed two more years of preparation to qualify for Nationals.
"I want you to come with me." He let go of my hands and pulled me closer to him. His warm hand splayed across my lower back. "We're both getting out of this town."
"How?" My mind raced. I couldn't afford to pay for training anywhere outside of Chance Rapids.
"We'll figure it out. As long as we're together, nothing else matters.” The kisses were back to soft and slow. When he pulled back, his face was serious. "I love you, Clara Dalton. I'm going to love you for the rest of my life."
"I love you too."
The cocky grin I loved returned. "How much?"
"Is Beck Shepherd, star of the Chance Rapids Bobcats, fishing for compliments?"
"Maybe." His hands slid down to cup my ass. "Or maybe I just like hearing you say it."
"I love you." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Even though you look better than me in my opening pose."
Warmth pooled in my belly, as the kisses turned hard and hungry. I moaned, pressing my body against his. We'd been together eight months and had done almost everything. Could tonight be the night we went all the way?
"Come on." He lifted me off the boards, setting me onto my blades. "We have to meet Locks and McCake at the axe-throwing contest."
"Oh." I thought the night was going in a different direction. One that involved condoms and first times, not axes and hockey players.
He tucked my hair behind my ear. "You're so beautiful."
"Beck—" My cheeks burned.
"I mean it. Sometimes I look at you and can't believe that you're mine."
I took his hand and pressed it over my heart. "That's all yours.”
We skated off the ice together, hand in hand, on our way to take our frustration out on wooden targets with axes. I didn't know it at the time, but would be the night we did everything.
We were idiots, and we were so happy.
After sweeping all the junk back into the drawer with my arm, I marched over to the woodstove with the envelope in my hand. But as the hinges creaked and the fire flared, I couldn't bring myself to throw it in.
“Dammit.” I tossed the envelope back in the drawer and stuffed the spare keys in my pocket. Dash lifted his head. "I'm fine, Dashie-Doo.”
My phone buzzed with a text from Megan.
Cookie decorating at the church has been moved to noon. You can leave work early. I know Mrs. K is counting on you!
Usually, I loved the Benevolence Society's Christmas bazaar preparation parties.
The ladies gossiped harder than anyone in town, and for one day the church basement smelled like sugar and cinnamon, instead of musty old carpet.
But today it felt like something else I had to survive, like the upcoming town meeting.
Racks covered in sugar cookies lined long tables covered in plastic cloths.
"Clara. Finally!” Mrs. Krinkle spotted me. She was eighty years old with more energy than most twenty-year-olds. Her tacky Christmas sweater had a picture of Cousin Eddie standing in his bathrobe holding the hose to the shitter.
“Nice sweater.” I hugged her.
She winked. “The pooper is full.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, I locked the keys in the truck.”
She gave me a quizzical look. "You lock that poop-box?"
I chuckled. "Not on purpose."
She shoved a bowl of green icing and a piping bag at me. "Make them pretty."
"Yes, ma'am."
I squeezed in between the other decorators. A man was seated across from me. “Donnie?" It was weird seeing him in the wild.
He didn't look up. “I got roped into this.”
"He's very dedicated to the cookie arts.” Clementine, another octogenarian volunteer grinned.
"Very." Another pumped her eyebrows. Donnie's ears went red.
What in the church lady drama was going on?
Squeezing the piping bag, I traced the edge of the cookie with green frosting. "Can we talk about the meeting?”
"Yes. That's the reason we're all here." Donnie grumbled.
The church ladies rolled their eyes.
Mrs. Krinkle pulled up a chair. "Yes, let's get to business."
"The public meeting is critical,” Mrs. Krinkle said. "We need solidarity. They need to know the community has concerns."
"Are we all opposed though?" Clementine asked. "Some people seem excited about the jobs."
"Our job is to remind them what's important. Not just what's new and fancy." Mrs. Krinkle pulled out a map of the town hall with the seating sections marked in different colors. "We've got forty confirmed attendees. You'll each speak and give specific examples of how the rink impacted your life."
"What about Shepherd's cronies?" Donnie asked. "Will they be there?"
“I’d assume so." Mrs. Krinkle kept her face neutral. “There will be supporters there."
We spent the next hour planning while decorating and by the time the last cookie was frosted, I was exhausted.
All the ladies left, leaving me alone with Mrs. Krinkle.
"Are you alright, dear?"
I shrugged. "The town is turning on itself. I hate that everyone is so divided. Is this a mistake? Does it really matter?"
Mrs. Krinkle pulled me into a hug. "Sweetheart. You're doing this for those kids. Of course it matters. Pull yourself together. We have a rink to save."
She handed me a wadded-up tissue from the sleeve of her Eddie sweater. "And Clara? I think that boy is trying to find his way back."
"Back to what?"
"To who he was before he got lost." She patted my cheek. "Now go. Skating practice in an hour, and you look like hell."