Page 59 of Put a Rink on It

When it’s my turn, I cradle the puck from Underwood, keeping it on my stick, skating into the middle of the ice before gliding it back to Underwood. My thighs power me past Coach Barron, watching as the puck slides over the crease and into the goal.

“Nice pass, Champion,” he compliments as I skate around him. “Underwood, great shot.”

We spend the next twenty-ish minutes making sure everyone has a turn at both positions and from both sides of the ice.

I’ve always loved the freedom of movement of each position, which is one reason I had no desire to play goalie. Beyond the obvious of not wanting pucks flying at me. I enjoy the ability to skate all over the ice, shooting when it allows, not having to worry about staying in one position or side of the rink.

When I first started playing, I wanted to be a forward, but I quickly learned clearing rebounds gave me a different thrill than playing more offense.

Practice transitions to small-area games, and I get paired with Rancourt as the other defender. We haven’t played together yet, so we’re not completely in sync and why these opportunities are important, especially for a new player to the team. My Minnesota partner and I were a well-rehearsed couple on the ice, anticipating each other’s moves ahead of the play. It took years of practice and games to get there, and I’m sure whoever ends up being my go-to partner for the Nauts and I will get there. Though the way Rancourt is reacting, it won’t be him.

Instead of anticipating the pass I’m waiting for, he skates in front of me, making it nearly impossible to catch the pass, and the puck from Novak streaks past me. I recover quickly, digging my skates into the ice to retrieve it before the opposing winger can get a handle on it.

Coach Barron skates up to him. “Rancourt, what do you see out there?”

“On it, Coach,” comes his muffled reply.

Hockey is a game that can get into your head and under your skin. The trick is not to let it. Better to make these mistakes in practice than in games.

We battle for a few more minutes, my team capitalizing on completing solid passes, then it’s a pep talk from Coach about our upcoming games. He’s pleased with the performance today—which isn’t always the case—and tells us we’re working hard. He hands out compliments when they’re deserved, helping build up players and the team morale.

After showering off the sweat, I bid farewell to my teammates and make my way to my apartment where Marina’s waiting for me. If that isn’t the best way to get me home faster, I’m not sure what is.

I slide my SUV into my apartment parking spot and hop out, eager to see Marina. I’ve never come home to anyone, and it’s a new excitement I didn’t know I was missing.

I’ve lived alone since I got drafted. First in an apartment in Saint Paul, and then I bought the house on the lake. At the time, my parents saw it as a stupid investment, considering the team hopping occurring in hockey. While I can’t disagree—hello, current life—I loved the house. Love. Possibly even more after our proposal. It’s already paid off, so even if it sits empty for most of the year, I don’t need the money. I can easily afford the upkeep on it, and when we need a retreat from our everyday lives, we have a place.

We. As in Marina and me. She’d for sure have something to say about my use of the pronoun.

“Ships, I’m moored.” I toe out of my shoes in the mudroom, dropping my backpack onto the built-in shelves, laughing at the phrase tumbling from my mouth. No doubt Marina will have an opinion.

She’s at the kitchen island, her hair pulled into a loose braid, a Hartford Nautilus hoodie covering her top half. She glances at me entering, and I swear the world tilts. It’s not a smile I haven’t seen before, but aimed at me, it’s breathtaking. What would she do if I lifted her into my arms and kissed her?

Would she melt into me like yesterday?

Would she shove me away?

Would she⁠—

My thoughts are cut off by her, “‘Ships, I’m moored’?” She tilts her head. “If that’s not the most ridiculous way to greet me, I don’t know what is.” She waves it away with a head shake, and I’m off the hook for having to explain myself. Not that I could. “How was practice? Why isn’t this weird? You coming home from work, me being here, us doing this thing?”

“Because it’s us. It’s always been this way.” The statement is a matter of fact, yet true. Even the first day we hung out in college wasn’t weird. There wasn’t any awkward conversation, no embarrassing getting-to-know-you vibes. It’s always been easy with Marina, the rationale for this unique friendship we have.

Why this works between us.

“But this is different than working side-by-side in the library, getting to know each other through random questions you wrote in your notebook. It’s kinda huge, Nero. And it’s not weird.” She stresses the not weird, as if she’s trying to make it weird.

I walk toward her, staying on the other side of the island lest I make a move on her she’s not ready for. “Don’t make it something it’s not. Don’t borrow trouble. That’s the phrase, right?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“You know I am. How was your day?” I grab a bottle of water from the stocked fridge, gulping some before resting it down on the island.

“Hey, I asked about your practice first.”

“It was fine. I’ll probably take a nap after lunch. There was chatter about going to some activity tonight. I stopped listening, but if you want me to find out the details, I will.”

She snaps her fingers. “We should go skating, is what we should do. I brought my skates. Can you make that happen?”