WEDNESDAY, I’m at the ice rink where the Wombats practice. I reserved one of the rinks for me and Noah, I don’t care about the cost as long as I don’t have to deal with a bunch of fawning NHL fans.
I have a net set up for us and a dozen pucks. I’m waiting for Andie and Noah to arrive, and it’s embarrassing how many times I’ve glanced at the door to the rink. It’s also embarrassing how much time I took on my hair this morning, even though I have my helmet on.
I tell myself I’m just excited to work with Noah and to see what he can do without the other boys here to tease him, but deep down, I know I just want a glimpse of Andie’s brown eyes, and maybe that dimple too.
When the door finally opens, it’s not Andie who appears at Noah’s side, but an older woman with salt and pepper hair, brown skin, and eyes that seem to see straight through me.
I skate toward them and the woman’s eyes rake over me slowly… not in the way someone would check me out, but more like how a bodyguard would survey a threat. She takes in my beard, my probably narrowed eyes, then my shoulders and down my tattooed arms, which are on full display since the sleeves of my grey henley are rolled up to my elbows. Her eyes continue all the way down to the laces on my skates, not missing a thing.
She allows her eyes to drift back up and she meets my gaze, her own eyes cold and calculating. Noah skates onto the ice, smiling, and I can’t stop the smile that dawns on my own face. I’m not used to seeing him smile, but it seems to brighten up the entire rink. A trait he has in common with his sister.
“Hey, Downsby,” I say as he skates past me, he tries to body slam me, but I don’t budge. Instead, I laugh and give him a playful shove. The laughter makes my throat feel warm and rumbly. It feels almost foreign to me, and I wonder when was the last time I really laughed?
Noah heads straight for the pucks and starts shooting them towards the net. While he’s preoccupied I skate over to where the woman who brought him is standing.
“Someone called in sick at work today and Andie took their shift at the last minute,” she explains, giving me a hesitant smile. “I’m Ronda, by the way.”
I tip my chin to acknowledge her introduction. “Mitch.”
One side of her mouth pulls up in a humorless smile. “I know who you are, young man.”
“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.”
“Indeed it does,” she says simply, then turns and takes a seat on the bench nearby.
Wow. This woman who is probably a hundred pounds lighter and a foot shorter than me, somehow made me feel small. I have an inkling her cold attitude isn’t because she thinks she’s better than me, so much as a silent statement that she will find me and kill me if I do anything to hurt Andie or Noah. And I can respect her for that.
I blow out a breath and catch up with Noah. He shoots me a puck and I shoot it into the net easily, seeing as we don’t have a goalie.
“Ready to work?”
“Always,” he says, then quirks his lips like he’s deep in thought. “Well, when it comes to hockey, anyway.”
I chuckle. Since when do I chuckle?
Me and Noah spend the next half hour going through defensive drills, Noah acts as defenseman and I try to get the puck past him.
Then we work on his slap shot, which is more challenging for him. In only half an hour, I’ve discovered he’s much chattier one-on-one. Another thing we have in common, I suppose. After a full hour of drills, I can tell he’s starting to get frustrated.
He enjoys the defensive work way more than scoring goals. Finally, I hold my gloved hands in a T for timeout. He rolls his eyes and skates toward me.
“You wanna know something I learned… recently?” I catch myself before I say the words in therapy.
He quirks an eyebrow, but I continue anyway.
“When you start feeling pissed, like all you wanna do is give someone a bloody nose… inhale for seven seconds, and then–”
“Exhale for eleven seconds.” He looks at me like I’m a moron. “I already know that. Learned it in therapy.”
My eyes widen, not because he’s in therapy, but because he’s talking about it. Here I am, almost thirty years old, and even I’m embarrassed for anyone to know I’m in therapy. “You’re… in therapy?”
He huffs out a laugh at my surprised reaction. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal. Andie says everyone needs therapy… She found a therapist for me right after our parents died.”
He sombers, like he’s thinking back to that day. I wonder how long ago it happened, how they died, but I don’t push.
“Everyone needs therapy though, right?”
He skates away and starts working on his shot again. “Right,” I mutter to myself, feeling like an idiot. Noah is braver and more mature at eleven than I am at twenty-eight.
I study him with a newfound respect and… affection? This boy still has his whole life ahead of him, and he lost his parents. They won’t get to see him graduate, possibly make it to the AHL or NHL if he keeps working hard, and he’s processing grief similar to what I had to.
Something deep inside me aches for him… not my heart though, that thing has been dead for a while.
“You’re not going to start crying are you?” Noah asks, pulling me out of my stupor.
“No,” I scoff.
“It’s okay if you do, I won’t laugh,” Noah offers, then adds, “That’s what Andie always tells me anyway. But I might laugh a little if you cry.”
I shake my head and he grins. “So, what else have you learned in therapy? Anything good?”
His grin widens. “Oh, young grasshopper, I have so much to teach you.”
That brings another smile to my face. Who needs Dr. Curtis when you have Dr. Noah?
