Chapter 10
FALLING FORWARD
FLETCHER
Seeing Lydia in person eased my concerns. She seems fine today, and watching her out on the ice with the kids has always been one of my favorite things.
One half of the ice is for the figure skaters, the other for hockey, so Lydia and I are always on opposite ends during these events. It never stops me from keeping an eye on her.
She takes off her mitten and uses her hand to demonstrate to the young girl how to lift her arms higher before she goes into a skill.
When the girl does it right this time, Lydia cheers and offers her a high five.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her. She’s always been so good at coaching.
It’s not my favorite thing. Nothing against the kids, I’m just not a great teacher.
I can’t verbalize how they should change a minor detail to get the puck in the net. Lydia, however, sees the little things.
I notice that instead of putting her mitten back on, she shoves it into her vest pocket. Her hands are going to get cold. I tilt my chin in the direction of another coach, letting him know I’m stepping away, and skate over to Lydia.
I stop in front of her, making sure I don’t spray her with any snow.
“Hey!” She greets me with a smile. Her cheeks are rosy red, and her hat is askew on her head. “What's up?”
I reach up to fix her hat. “You need to put your mittens back on.”
She furrows her brow, glancing at her hands. “They’re fine, Fletcher. I’m demonstrating. I need my hands.”
“Use your hands with your mittens on.” I pull the mittens from her pocket. “You’re going to freeze.”
Lydia huffs, holding out her hands for me to put her mittens on. “There, is that better, you weirdo?”
“Much.” I boop her nose before skating away.
A voice pulls my attention. “Mr. Graff.”
It’s Luke. He's one of the boys I’ve been working with for a few years, and he skates over to me when I’m back on the hockey side of the ice.
“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
He’s only seven or eight years old, but the kid is good at hockey. If he keeps up, he could be phenomenal. The next Adam Davison, but I’d never tell Adam I said that. Can’t let his head get too big.
“Can you help me?” his voice is small, hesitant.
“Of course. What do you need?” I crouch down to his level, taking in the sadness in his eyes.
“I can’t get my shot straight anymore, and my dad said if I don’t get better, he’s going to stop bringing me.” A lone tear streaks down his red cheek.
“Oh, buddy, no.” I pat his shoulder. “I won’t let that happen. We’ll keep you coming to hockey, and I’ll help you work on your shot, don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” He sniffles. “I want to keep playing. I can be better, I know I can.”
I help Luke with his shot, coaching him on getting the angles right and strengthening the power behind it until he feels more confident.
An hour later, there’s an announcement over the PA system that there are five minutes left in today’s practice. The hockey kids scoop up pucks and throw them in buckets, while the kids on the figure skating side continue working on their skills.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lydia, her cheeks flushed as she crouches down to help another child, much like I crouched down earlier to get on Luke’s level. They're smiling widely.
She’s so amazing with kids.
Another girl practices a jump, lands it, and skates backward, not paying attention to where she’s going. I’m too far away to stop her, but a few other people and I see it coming and shout as Lydia stands.
The girl skates right into her, knocking her hard onto the ice. I skate as fast as I can. The girl who hit Lydia is kneeling beside her, crying.
“Lydia,” I grit out as I drop to my knees beside her. Anxiety pounds through my body.
She’s prone on the ice, and I reach for her, but she’s already moving to sit up, her brows furrowed as she cradles her wrist to her chest.
“I’m fine,” she says to me, but I can see in her eyes that she isn’t. She turns to the kid. “Polly. You need to remember to watch where you’re going, especially when there are other people on the ice.”
“I’m so sorry,” Polly cries, her regret seeping through her words.
“I’m okay. But now you know for next time, right?”
Leave it to Lydia to use an injury as a lesson.
Polly nods, her eyes leaking tears faster than a faucet. The kids are moved away as I bend into Lydia’s space, taking her hand in mine to examine it.
“What hurts?” I ask, tenderly taking off her mitten and moving her palm so it’s facing up.
“I’m not sure. It’s not bad. I don’t think it’s broken, but I landed pretty hard on it. It’s probably sprained.”
“We’ll see.”
She fell hard, and landing on an outstretched hand like that puts the wrist at a higher chance to break. Lydia hisses as I twist her wrist to check mobility.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Lydia says, pulling her hand from me. I’m not sure whether she’s trying to convince herself or me. Her wrist is already swelling.
“You’re lying. We should go to the ER.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.” She cradles her hand back against her chest and holds her good hand out. “Help me stand?”
I rise to my feet, taking hers and pulling her up. “We’re going to the ER.”
“No, we’re not. I’m fine, see?” She holds her arm out and flexes her fingers, but when she moves to twist her wrist, she gasps, swallowing a soft shriek.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come on. They can handle the teardown without us tonight.” I wrap my arm around her waist, guiding her off the ice. Everyone claps and taps their sticks to the ice, lauding her as if she’s a player who was injured.
Lydia waves with her good hand as we leave. I help her get out of her skates and into her boots, then rush to get my own gear off. It’s a good thing we rode together; at least now we don’t have to worry about getting her car home later.
I start my car, so hopefully it’s at least a little warm by the time we get to it in the parking lot. I grab her jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her into my body. Stopping at the locker room, I make an ice pack and pass it to her before we head outside.
“It feels better with the ice,” Lydia says as I open the car door for her. “I really don’t need to go in.”
“I’d rather be safe than sorry. It was swelling before we even left the ice.”
She climbs in, and I help her get buckled in, being careful of her arm.
“I know, but really, I don’t need to go.”
“You need X-rays.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Stop fighting me on this,” I say, a bit harshly, as I shut her door.
I take a deep breath, trying to slow my rapidly pounding heart. She’s okay, it’s just her wrist. It’s not like she hit her head or anything.
Shit, I didn’t even ask her if she hit her head.
I race to my side of my car, climbing in and shutting the door behind me.
“Did you hit your head?” I ask in a panic.
She leans forward to adjust her heated seat. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“Are you sure? Let me see your pupils.” I turn on the center light and take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, turning her head to face me.
Her eyes are wide as she takes in my worried expression, but her pupils look okay.
I let my gaze linger on those beautiful blue orbs of hers.
They’re the first thing I see when I close my eyes every night.
I could spend hours finding each and every speck of navy in them, watching them widen when she gets excited about her newest project or fixation.
Her breath catches as I stare at her for longer than necessary, but I allow myself one more moment.
“Does your head hurt at all?”
With an irritated huff, she rips her eyes from mine and says no. At least I’m confident that she doesn’t have a concussion.
“What hospital should we go to?”
“Please. I’m fine. There’s no need to go to the hospital.”
“We’re going. If it’s broken, you need a cast, and if it’s not, well, at least we got it checked.” I put the car in drive and head out of the parking lot. “Put your hospital into the GPS. I want to make sure it’s at least in-network for you.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “But when nothing is wrong with me, you’re paying my hospital bill. I can’t afford an ER bill for nothing right now.”
“Deal.” I was already planning on footing the bill regardless, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Money is tight for her, especially since she insists on paying rent. She doesn’t have to. I bought the place outright with my signing bonus six years ago, but she insisted.
What she doesn’t know is that I’ve saved every single penny of rent she’s paid me in a high-interest savings account for the day she eventually moves out. She deserves the world, and I’m going to do my best to give it to her.