Chapter 2 #3
I make a point of slurping and grin at her. "So'm I. Annoyed Taylor to no end."
She seems to relax subtly, shoulders dropping a touch, chin lifting—small things, but they speak to a deeply rooted defensiveness for which her ex is likely the source.
“Well, there are two reasons. One: Alaina’s son accidentally posted on the official Tomlin Falls Instagram page that I’m skating in the pre-show with my girls, which I wasn’t aware of, and I’m not ready for.
The other reason I'm suddenly practicing again is that I got drunk. "
I frown, puzzled. "Sorry, but how does getting drunk lead to six a.m. skates?"
A soft laugh. "I went out for drinks with Alaina, Kathy, and Ingrid the night before we ran into each other here."
"Literally ran into each other," I put in.
"Exactly. I, um…may have overindulged a little bit. I'm an early riser by long habit, and I woke up to, um, hurl, not to put too fine a point on it. I just sort of assumed it was my usual wake-up time and took a shower and got dressed…only to realize it was barely five thirty on a Saturday morning. I just figured since I was up and had lessons at eight, I might as well head to the rink and get some practice in so I don’t embarrass myself.”
"And now here you are again."
She nods. "Here I am again. I skate all the time, y'know?
But only while teaching, and I never do anything fancy.
I stopped skating like that on my own, ohhh god…
years ago, I guess—when Mallory was little, and I just didn't have the time, and then I never forced myself to start again once Mal was old enough not to need me as much.
And then what with the accidental wake-up and getting railroaded into skating with the girls before the game this year, I guess I forgot how much I love just skating, you know? "
I nod. "I very much do. I've been playing hockey my whole life.
I knew I was gonna be a fireman from the time I was a kid, so I never even thought about hockey as anything but a fun game to play with my buddies.
At least, not once my pops stopped forcing me into four a.m. practices seven days a week.
I've always just played, and my fitness from being a firefighter has kept me in good enough shape that I can keep up with the other guys in the league, mostly.
But these fundraiser games? They're kicking my ass, Morgan. "
"Half your team is half your age, and the average age of the cops' team is barely thirty." She shrugs. "I can see what you mean."
"I spent a week after the game last year hobbling around like I'd had a double knee replacement or something. I think I lost like five pounds just from sweat.” I gesture at the ice.
"So this year, I figured I need to either commit to getting back in proper game-day shape before the game, or give up playing and stay behind the bench with Noel. "
"Obviously, you committed to getting in shape."
I nod. "I'm doing more conditioning and less heavy lifting with the guys, and trying to get in here two or three mornings a week for skill work and such.
" I look at the ice, and then at Morgan.
"Being out there alone, just you and the ice and the familiar old drills… gets you feelin' nostalgic, y'know?"
She tips her head back, letting out a gusting sigh.
"Boy, do I ever." She glances at me. "You said it was your dad who took you to practice?
" I nod, and she gives a small smile. "For me, it was my mom.
She was an LPN who worked nights. She'd come home after an eleven-to-five shift, get me up, take me to the rink, and study for her RN while I skated. "
"What makes you the most nostalgic?" I ask her.
"Oh god, everything. The cold, the smell, the sound of my skates on the ice. Being cold and sweaty at the same time."
My radio squawks from the net, and I hear my name. I set my cup and the thermos aside and skate over. "Go for Captain Austin."
"Cap, we need you at the station. We've got an incident."
"On my way."
I gather my things, pausing with one foot on the ice, one off, calling to Morgan. "Gotta run, but it's great talking to you, Morgan. See you next time?"
"Same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel," she quips, tossing a wave at me before skating off. "Thanks for the coffee!"
As I drive to the station, I find myself feeling…lighter, somehow, inside. As if a few minutes of idle chit-chat with Morgan Wheeler somehow…
I dunno what, exactly.
Lessened the perpetual gloom hovering over me since Taylor's passing, maybe.
I find myself, as my 24-on passes, thinking about her frequently. More than anything, I find myself looking forward to the next time I can get onto the ice for a morning skate, hoping she'll be there.
This fact leaves a sour taste in my mouth and guilt in my gut. Enjoying Morgan's company feels like a betrayal.
I hear Taylor in the back of my mind, calling bullshit on this feeling, but I just can't shake it.
It doesn't stop me from being eager to see her again, though. I'm just conflicted about it.