19. Jules #2
Drew pulls the laces tight until there’s no chance they’re going to open and trip me. Standing up, he removes the skate guards and easily steps onto the ice. There’s two hockey sticks leaning against the boards and a puck on center ice.
Someone’s obviously helped him plan this.
I breathe out and stand up, taking a wobbly step on the ice. I start to slip and Drew reaches out, grabbing my arm over my long sleeved top. The heat of his palm seeps into my skin through the thin material.
He holds me steady, just like his gaze on me. Drew raises his eyebrows, silently asking me if he can release me.
“I’m okay,” I say.
Slowly, he removes his hand from my arm and I skate forward. Drew remains behind me as I skate forward to center ice. It feels as easy as gliding and I like to think that somehow, Gemma knows and she’s happy.
Drew hands me a stick. “First, we get into the face off position.”
I bend forward at the waist, mirroring his position. Our sticks rest on either side of the puck.
“During a game, the face off begins when the referee blows the whistle and drops the puck. Whichever center is faster and pulls the puck towards them wins the face off,” Drew says. He’s patient in his instruction and I nod, my eyes bouncing between him and the puck on the ice.
“Since this isn’t an official game, I’ll let you pull the puck.”
“Oh! Uh, what do I do?”
His mouth curls up into a smirk, and it’s only then I realize how close we are. So close that I can count the freckles smattered across his face like stars.
“I thought you said it’s easy?” he goades.
I roll my eyes. “If you’re going to teach, do it well. Unless you’re scared you’re going to lose?” I arch an eyebrow at him.
Chuckling lightly, he says, “The aim of the game is to take a pass at the net. If you can skate fast enough before I catch you.”
I blink, dropping my eyes down to the puck. My cheeks flush slightly when I think of Drew catching me. Something about the idea sets my blood racing, and not in a terrified way. It’s surprising because being caught by a man twice my size is literally my worst nightmare.
“First you have to learn stickhandling,” Drew says.
“Uh, excuse me? I didn’t sign up for innuendos.”
His mouth flattens into a straight line as I grin at him.
“Stickhandling is how you control the puck. If you can’t control it, you can’t take a shot.”
He moves the puck easily with his stick, swiftly pulling it towards him. I watch as he handles the puck, his stick always moving, the way he moves, so fast he’s a blur. When he takes a shot, it goes directly into the net.
“I hope you know that goal doesn’t count in our game,” I say, my voice echoing around us.
I’m not sure if we’re strictly allowed to be here, but it’s strangely nice, so I’m not going to question it. Drew skates back to me with the puck.
“Now you try it. Try to keep your grip relaxed.”
I nod, pushing the puck back and forth with my stick. It’s awkward at first. I’m not used to handling the stick. I keep glancing at Drew to see if I’m doing it correctly and he nods encouragingly.
“Try passing the puck to me,” Drew says.
I strike the puck and it goes bouncing toward the boards, making Drew laugh.
“Not that hard, you’re not fighting it.” He gets the puck and comes back to me as I stand there pouting.
“Like this,” he says, passing the puck to me. “Softly. Think of the stick and the puck as an extension of your hand. Hold your stick like this and push.”
I do as he says, mirroring the way he angles the stick and when I pass the puck back to him, it feels easy.
“Lavinia is going to be so mad when I tell her,” I say.
“I’m surprised she’s never tried to teach you,” Drew says.
We continue to pass the puck back and forth between us. The more I do it, the easier it gets.
“She has, not like this, obviously. But she explained the game to me and I usually forget everything right away because I can’t keep track of the rules and terms.” I stand up straight, resting my hands on top of the stick.
“I’ve always appreciated that she’s never tried to push me and that it’s never affected our friendship. ”
Drew frowns. “Why should it? Lavinia knows you love and support her. Whether you know or understand hockey isn’t a big deal.”
“When do we get to make shots?” I ask.
“Is that all you’re after?”
“Isn’t that the fun part?”
“You have to learn the whole thing, not just the fun stuff,” Drew grouches.
But he’s already skating toward the goal and I follow him. He stops some distance away from the goal and glances at me over his shoulder.
“We’re going to try a slap shot. Knees bent and feet shoulder-width apart, standing next to the puck. Try to keep the puck in line with the heel of your front foot. Your dominant hand will be halfway down the stick. You don’t want to lock your arms--keep them relaxed so you have ease of motion.”
I watch the way he’s standing, where the puck is, the distance between it and Drew’s stick. I nod, trying to memorize the positioning.
“A slap shot takes energy and momentum. You’re not shooting directly from here.” Drew taps the stick where it’s currently resting a few inches from the puck. “You have to wind the stick back and release the energy.”
Drew lifts the stick back, raising it to about shoulder high. It comes down in a part arc, landing a few feet from the puck but the motion has power behind it and it pushes the puck into the net with a crack.
I wince.
“Wouldn’t that hurt the goalie?” I ask.
“Yeah, it can.”
“Poor Kai.” I think of the Titans goalie, with his gentle smile and kind eyes. It almost makes me want to cry that he’s standing there defending the net through the game and he can get hurt in the blink of an eye all because a player is trying to make a shot.
“This is barbaric,” I say. “Team sports shouldn’t exist.”
Drew straightens, his eyes softening. “Kai is fully padded up when he’s defending the net.”
“So are the rest of you when you’re playing but Roman still got a concussion. You have a shoulder injury from three years ago that you still need PT for.”
Drew tilts his head, frowning slightly. “You know about that?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Lavinia and I talk, and I do attend the games. I saw you get injured.”
“You can get injured at any job. You use a wrist brace when you type,” Drew points out.
That’s true. Recently, I’ve been needing a wrist brace when I type, especially in the early days of a book when I’m drafting thousands of words a day just to get the story out.
“Take a shot, if you hate it, we won’t do it again,” Drew says.
I twist my mouth to the side, looking at the net. “Fine, but I’m only doing it because it’s not a real game. It’s not going to change my opinion.”
Drew nods in agreement and gets the puck. Once I get in position and take a shot, sending it directly into the net, I feel a sense of elation. I whoop in excitement and Drew laughs.
“Told you I could do it,” I say, gloating.
“Yeah, you’re an absolute beast,” Drew says, shaking his head.
He gets the puck and sets it down in front of me again.
“This is the first I’ve skated since Gemma died,” I say quietly.
Drew’s eyes soften as he looks at me, sympathy swirling in them. I look down at the puck so I don’t have to see it.
“She used to take me to New York every Christmas and we used to go skating at Madison Square Garden.”
“You haven’t been since?” Drew asks softly.
I shake my head. “It was more fun with her.”
I take another pass at the net, watching the puck land in the corner.
“I think she would have liked you trying new things,” Drew says.
I laugh. “She would have been extremely suspicious.”
Drew gets the puck and teaches me a few more tricks. I’m forced to admit that it’s not all bad. I have fun; maybe the most fun I’ve had without Lavinia. I don’t think about my parents once and the loss of my apartment once.