Chapter 17
MATEO
I do it before practice.
Not a speech, that’s not what this is. Just the locker room, the team getting ready, and me sitting at my stall and waiting until enough of them are there that I only have to say it once.
I sit down. I tape my blade. Black, even passes, no overlap.
Then I put the stick down.
“I need to say something.”
The locker room goes quiet.
“There’s been talk. About me and Coach Eriksson. I want to be straight with you. I pursued her. From early on. She was professional about it and I wouldn’t let it go and whatever anyone thinks they saw or heard - that’s on me, not her. Coach has spoken to me about it and I’ve apologized to her.”
Silence.
“She’s good at her job. She’s made this team better and she deserves to do that job without any of us making it harder than it needs to be. So that’s it. That’s what I wanted to say.”
I pick up my stick.
A few of the guys nod once. The freshmen glance at each other and then away.
Chen stares at the floor, feeling something he won’t share.
And Mercer.
Mercer sits at his stall with his eyes on his skates and says nothing, which from Mercer is the closest thing to an apology that exists.
I pull my helmet on.
“Let’s go.”
ELIDA
I can’t stop thinking about the driving range. That was how it could have been. If we weren’t in the positions we’re in. But I’m in a coaching position, he’s on the team and that’s that. It’s been amply demonstrated to me what happens when I let those lines blur and I’m learning my lesson from it.
I can’t go there with him.
I’ve watched what the last few weeks have done to my authority in that rink.
It doesn’t matter that he’s different from Erik.
It doesn’t matter that what happened between us was real and mutual and not what anyone thinks it was. The professional consequences don’t care about intentions. They care about appearances, and appearances are what they are.
I came here to rebuild.
I’m not burning it down again.
I open my notebook and write up the women’s session plan for Friday and I don’t think about the driving range or the solid weight of him behind me adjusting my swing.
Jake texts at 10am.
In the building this morning - meeting with Calloway. Any chance of a coffee after? I know a drive-through place that does a surprisingly decent flat white.
Sounds good, I type. Text me when you’re done.
My phone buzzes again before I’ve even put it down.
One thing before coffee.
I wait.
I know you’ve been weird the last few days. I’m not asking you to explain it. But I’m also not going to pretend I haven’t noticed.
I stare at the screen.
You don’t have to be okay. But you do need to show up.
I type: That’s very generous.
Three dots. Then: It’s not generous. It’s practical. I like you. I want to see where this goes. But I can’t do that if you’re somewhere else every time we’re together.
My thumb hovers.
I’m here, I type. Sorry. Just a lot on my mind.
I know, he says. See you at 11.
I set the phone down.
He’s not wrong. I have been somewhere else. He’s not asking for much. Only that I’m actually there when I’m there.
That shouldn’t feel like a lot.
But today, for some reason, it does.
He finds me in the corridor at half 11, and we walk to his car and drive to the place on Route 9 he’d suggested. We sit in the car in the drive-through parking lot after we’ve collected our coffees.
“Good meeting?”
“Scheduling stuff. Calloway’s thorough.” He grins. “In a good way.”
“He is.”
It feels easy. That’s the word for Jake, always easy, and I let myself settle into it.
“How was the away game?” he asks. “The guys had a good win.”
“They did.” I sip my coffee. “The skating held up when it mattered. They’re cleaner than they’ve been all season.”
He nods. “You should be proud of that.”
“I am.”
“How are the girls getting on?”
“Really well actually. There’s a freshman - Dani - she’s got something special. The kind of natural awareness you can’t teach, you either have it or you don’t. She doesn’t know how good she could be.”
Jake smiles. “You light up when you talk about them.”
I open my mouth to say something modest and deflecting, and he holds up a hand.
“I mean it as a compliment. Not everyone finds the thing they’re meant to do. You clearly have.”
He means coaching. He’s looking at me with that straightforward certainty.
But I hear Mateo’s voice.
You’re not a coach, Elida. Not at your core. You’re a figure skater. Maybe you haven’t figured out how to take back what you want?
I’ve thought about it every day since.
“Maybe. I’ve been thinking about skating again. Actually skating. Not coaching.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s probably nothing. I just - I miss it. Maybe more than I let myself admit.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“It feels impossible. After everything.”
“Most things that feel impossible aren’t,” he says simply.
“Can I take you to dinner? Properly. This weekend.”
I hold my coffee in both hands and study him. He deserves a proper chance.
“Yes. That would be nice.”
Jake Skelly might be exactly what I need.
MATEO
I know scouts have been to see me and I know I played well. I’m also in my last year of college, so I’m not surprised when Calloway calls me in for a ‘proper conversation’ to discuss my future.
I sit across from him. He has a folder open on his desk and he waits for a moment before he says anything, which is very Calloway - giving you time to settle before he starts, not rushing.
“I’ve had a few conversations,” he says. “About you.”
I wait.
“Someone who was at Ridgewood and saw you play. He’s been making some calls.” He pauses. “There’s interest, Mateo.”
Something leaps in my chest. It’s finally happening.
“Which team?” I ask. I can’t keep the excitement from my voice.
“It’s developmental. And conditional. Nothing signed, nothing promised. I want to be straight with you about what that means before you get ahead of yourself.”
I feel instantly deflated. “Oh. Okay.”
“It’s not the NHL.”
I knew this. I’ve always known this, on some level, in the place where the seventeen-year-old fantasy meets reality. But knowing something and hearing it said out loud in your coach’s office are different things, and for a second I sit with the feeling of disappointment.
“Right. Okay.”
“It’s a development contract,” Calloway says. “Europe-based, but you’d have some say over where. It’s a lower salary than you’d probably like. Rinks that aren’t always what you’re used to. You’re one of several players they’re considering. You’d have to earn it properly.”
“But they think there’s something there?”
“They think there’s something there,” he says. “Yes.”
Something there. Not you’re exceptional or we want you or any of the sentences I’ve been playing over and over in my head since I was seventeen. Just - something there.
But maybe it’s enough.
“Where?” I ask.
Calloway opens the folder. “A few options worth considering. There’s an AHL affiliate in the northeast - two way contract, means you’re up and down, no guarantees.
” He turns a page. “There’s a club in Germany.
Solid league, good development program, not glamorous.
” He turns another page. “Belfast Giants. EIHL - Elite Ice Hockey League. Respected program, good coaching staff. Plenty of players have used it as a stepping stone. They’re a sister program to us - we have a strong relationship with them.
They’d take care of you there, Russo. I’d make sure of it personally. ”
“You’d recommend it?”
“I’d recommend any of them. But the Belfast Giants-” He pauses. “Yes. I’d recommend Belfast.”
He pauses.
“Lots of guys don’t go straight to the show, Russo.
I want you to hear that not as a consolation but as a fact.
Many players who build real careers do it the long way.
AHL buses and European leagues and grinding it out in rinks that nobody’s heard of until someone notices.
” He closes the folder. “The question isn’t how glamorous it is.
The question is whether you still want to play. ”
“Yes. I still want to play. More than anything.”
He nods once.
“Then we have something to work with. Even if it isn’t the dream path.”
I think about the ice in the morning. The routine of it, the love of it, the thing that has never once felt like anything other than exactly right.
“But it’s playing,” I say. “It’s still playing.”
Calloway nods.
“Then go home. Think about it properly. And Russo-” He stops me at the door. “Whatever you decide. You’ve had a good season. A better one than you know.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
He waves it off and I let myself out.
I stand in the corridor and lean against the wall and think about seventeen-year-old Mateo with his NHL fantasy and his absolute certainty about what success was supposed to look like.
I’m not as disappointed as I thought I’d be.
I take out my phone and I almost text her and then I put it away. I’ll find her later.
But for now, it feels like a beginning.
ELIDA
The restaurant is small and cozy. Jake has chosen well, which doesn’t surprise me.
It’s our second date - a proper one this time, linen napkins and a decent wine list. I made a decision based on what’s healthy for me and I know that’s Jake.
He’s good company. He always is. We order, and the food is good. The wine is better. The conversation moves through his season and my programs and a funny story he tells about a team bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere in North Dakota which makes me laugh. I’m enjoying myself.
We’re on our second glass when he brings it up.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“About missing it. The skating.”
“I do think about it,” I say carefully. “More than I probably should.”
“Why probably should? You gave your whole life to it. It makes complete sense that you miss it.”
He’s said it so simply and so directly that I don’t quite know what to do with it.
People usually either don’t mention my skating career at all - which just makes it obvious that they know exactly what happened.
Or they mention it with a kind of careful sympathy that makes me feel like a patient.
Jake says it like it’s obvious. Like missing it is the most natural thing in the world and requires no apology.
“It feels impossible. Going back. After everything.”
“I know it does. But I’ve been thinking about that, too.” He reaches into his jacket pocket. “And I hope this isn’t overstepping.”
He slides a piece of paper across the table.
It’s folded once, neatly.
“Her name is Brita Fiske. Finnish but based in Sweden now. I did a season in Norway three years ago, and she was coaching figure skating there at the time - elite level. One of the best technical minds I’ve come across in any sport.
” He pauses. “So… I called her. I told her there was someone who might be ready to think about coming back.” He meets my eyes.
“She knew your name, Elida. Immediately. And she was excited. That’s the only way I can describe it. ”
Her name and number are written in Jake’s careful handwriting.
“She mentioned video coaching. You’re here, she’s there, it doesn’t have to be a barrier. Not to start with. She wants to talk to you. That’s all. Just talk. But there’s no pressure and if I overstepped, I’m sorry.”
My eyes brim with tears as I sit there with the paper in my hand and the soft light of the restaurant around us.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know. I wanted to help if I could.”
He’s sitting across from me right now with nothing on his face except admiration and the mild hope that he’s done something useful.
I was right to give this a chance.
“Thank you.”
He smiles. “I’m happy for you. You should call her.”
I fold the paper carefully and put it in my pocket.
I don’t plan it.
That’s the honest version. He walks me home and I think about the paper in my pocket - how lovely the evening was and how good he’s been.
“Do you want to come in?”
“Of course,” he says simply.
So, he comes in.
We sit on the sofa and talk for a while, easy and unhurried, and at some point the talking stops and he kisses me and I kiss him back because I want to, because he’s nice and good, and I’ve made a decision and I’m honoring it.
We make love. He sinks inside me with that same gentle care he does everything - watching my face, treating me like I’m fragile and precious.
I tilt my hips and he groans, low and honest, and I’m suddenly so close it scares me.
Then he hits it just right and I come hard and gasp, surprised even though I shouldn’t be.
For the second time that evening, my eyes fill with tears as Mateo’s face flashes before my eyes.
Jake slows down, worried. “Too much?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “You’re perfect.” And on paper he is. That’s the problem.
MATEO
I almost text first - are you home, can we talk - and then I think: no. This is the kind of thing you say in person.
It’s early enough in the morning that I guess she’ll be at home. I knock.
She answers in her dressing gown.
Her hair is down and she’s holding a coffee mug. For one second before she schools her expression, I see an emotion move across her face - surprise, and underneath the surprise something complicated. I feel the first note of something wrong without being able to name it.
“Mateo,” she says flatly.
“Hey.” I smile. “Sorry - early, I know. I have something I wanted to tell you and I… Can I come in?”
She hesitates.
“I-” she starts.
And then from behind her, from inside the apartment, Jake Skelly calls out to her, his voice carrying through the door.
“Elida? Do you want more coffee?”
I don’t move.
We look at each other across the threshold. I watch her watch me understand.
“I’m sorry. Mateo-”
“No. It’s okay.”
“I’ll catch you later,” I say. “The news can wait.”
“What news? Mateo, what-”
“Later,” I say. I take a small step back. “It’s good news. Don’t worry.”
Her feet are bare and her hair is messier than I’ve ever seen it - it’s ordinary and devastating. I smile, and I mean it. Then I step away.
I walk the path back to the street with my hands in my pockets and my head up. I don’t stop. I keep walking until the building is behind me and then I find a bench.
I take out my phone.
ELIDA
I stand at the closed door and listen to his footsteps fade down the path.
Then I go sit on the sofa beside Jake and he tops up my coffee from a freshly brewed pot.
My phone buzzes.
Mateo.
I pick it up.
Just wanted to say, I think you’re brave for trying. For giving something a proper chance instead of just protecting yourself from it. Anyway. You deserve good things, Elida. I mean that. I hope he treats you amazingly.
I read it twice.
I type: What’s the news?
Three dots.
Then: Later. Go enjoy your morning.