Page 8 of Offside

I made it onto the ice by gripping the boards with both hands and moving sideways in increments, which was humiliating in a way I was going to have to deal with later, privately, with wine. Around me, professional hockey players moved like the ice was something they’d been born on, which most of them effectively had been. Partners and family members skated with varying degrees of confidence. Even the kids were better than me. Every single one.

“Okay.” Cole Westbrook appeared in front of me, skating backward without thinking about it, blades as natural as walking, both hands extended. “Grab on.” His kind eyes were pleading and my resolve was waning. I did need help. But not from Griffin. And not from that fucking penguin.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re doing the thing where you shuffle sideways along the boards and call it skating.” He wiggled his fingers. “I’ve done this with my nieces. You’ll be moving in ten minutes.”

“This is not necessary.”

“I will never speak of this again, also I don’t care even a little. Grab my hands, Callahan. Come on. You look terrified, and you should be having fun.”

With a dramatic sigh, I grabbed his hands.

Cole Westbrook, underneath all the charm and the golden-boy grin, turned out to be a patient teacher in the real sense of it. He continued to skate backward slowly, pulling me forward, talking me through it. Weight distribution, where to keep my eyes, how you had to trust the blade even when every instinct screamed not to. He didn’t make me feel like an idiot once, which I appreciated more than I could say out loud.

“There,” he said, when I made it ten feet without the boards. “See?”

“Please don’t make it a thing.”

“It’s a little bit of a thing.” He grinned. “You’re doing great.”

Griffin blew past us at full speed, close enough the wind off him moved my hair. “Looking good, Maren!” he called, already halfway back down the ice.

“I hate him,” I told Cole.

“Completely justified,” Cole agreed with a chuckle, pulling me forward another few feet. “Knees soft. Eyes up.”

I kept my eyes up. Ryan Lindqvist was at the far end of the rink. I’d spotted him immediately, which was becoming a pattern. I was always tracking where he was. I didn’t know. He was hard to miss. He was crouched down to the level of a small boy, dark-haired, serious-faced, wearing a helmet with his hands out and his voice low. The kid took three careful steps forward and Ryan’s whole face changed. Not the restrained version I’d gotten in the corridor that morning, the almost-smile he kept on a tight leash. This was different. The kid grabbed his sleeve and Ryan caught him with both hands before he could wobble or fall.

My heart rate kicked up and I started to wobble myself. Cole caught me before it became a situation.

“Eyes forward,” he said cheerfully.

I moved my eyes forward. My face was warm and it had nothing to do with the rink temperature and everything to do with a thirty-second lapse in professional judgment I was not going to repeat.

“Who’s the kid?” I asked, nodding in their direction.

“Dom’s son. Mateo. Five years old, extremely serious about hockey.” Cole glanced back over his shoulder. “Ryan’s been over there with him for twenty minutes. The kid asked to skate with him. He’s a big fan.”

So am I, kid. So am I.

Griffin texted me at six.

Griffin: Dinner? I want to debrief and I’m starving

Maren: Fine but I’m picking

Obviously, with a multi-million dollar contract, he was paying. He took me to a place in Old Town Scottsdale I’d loved since college. Small, good wine list, a patio with misters that worked. A little pricey for me, but not for him. Sister privilege. We got a table outside and ordered a bottle and Griffin leaned back in his chair and let the day leave his body in a long exhale.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

“It was a good day. Dr. Reyes is sharp. Dom Caruso is exactly what I was hoping for. The equipment situation is not ideal but will be soon.” I swirled my wine. “The whole facility is impressive, Griff. I kept waiting to find something wrong with it. And the owner is invested. Anything I need, they’re ready to get it. I kept expecting to hit a wall and there hasn’t been one.”

“The ice is unreal. Best surface I’ve been on in years.” He leaned back in his chair with the expression he’d had since we were kids doing our debriefs, giving me his full attention. He seemed lighter than I’d seen him in a while. Some tightness gone from around his eyes I hadn’t consciously noticed until it wasn’t there anymore. Eight years in Seattle, cold and gray and far from everyone he loved, and I hadn’t understood how much it had hollowed him out until I was sitting across from him on a warm Arizona evening watching it fill back in.

“How does it feel? Working with a professional team?” he asked me.

“Good,” I said, and meant it all the way down. “Really good. I’m incredibly happy to be here, and it’s like my dream job.” It was true. “It’s awesome.” I grinned.