The skater wobbles forward.
“Remember, when you’re perfectly straight, you’re actually standing on the inner and outer edge of your blade. The middle of the blade is scooped out.” Dean makes an upside down u-shape with his finger. “You want to use your edges to keep your legs from spreading too far out. It feels weird at first but I promise you’ll get the hang of it.”
One pink skate pushes forward tentatively, followed by the opposite one, and the whole motion is repeated again until the figure glides past the crouching Dean.
“Is this okay?” a little girl’s voice calls out. “Am I doing it right?”
“You sure are.” He watches her intently as she floats along the ice. “You’re a natural, Koty.”
“Who’s Koty?” she asks.
“You’re Koty. Or wait, maybe…Dakota-y? Everyone needs a nickname.”
“What’s yours?” Dakota puts her tiny fists on her non-existent hips.
“Awesome. I’m awesome.” He winks at her and then pulls her hands into his, and the two of them skate together. Or I should say Dean skates backwards and Dakota clings to him. Her eyes are fixed on his face, two adoring spots savoring his every movement.
Despite the chilly air in the arena, I’m completely warm. Dean’s patience toward this young girl is making my ovaries explode. This is a side of him I’ve never seen before, never thought I even cared about.
Sweetness unfurls inside of me, filling in the cracks and holes I didn’t realize existed, taking me completely by surprise.
“Are you in love with him?”
“No. I don’t have that squishy feeling…”
I think back to my conversation with Hannah, and…fuck. What am I feeling then? How is it that everything he does makes me smile? Why was he the first one I turned to when I was desperately upset? Why—
An ear-piercing whistle cuts off my silly thoughts, and I’m grateful for the interruption. The sound of what seems like a hundred sticks pounding against the ice fills the arena. I notice a line of pint-sized hockey players on the other end of the rink.
Dean gestures for them to skate forward and they all race to do his bidding, sending up a wall of shaved ice when they stop at the center line.
“While Dakota practices her skating, I want you to break into two groups. The first group will carry the puck, head up from the blue line and back again. The second group stands in the middle of the ice. No reaching or trying to steal or checking. Just stand there. Once the first group returns to the blue line, switch. Most important part of this drill is keeping your head up.”
Dean arranges the boys who serve as the obstacles at varying points along the ice and then remains in the middle of the action as the team splits into two and starts racing up and down the ice, swerving neatly to avoid their teammates.
“He’s doing a great good job with them,” a deep male voice tells me. I turn to find an older man joining me on the bleachers.
“Dean?” I ask. The man nods. “Yeah, he looks like he’s enjoying himself.”
“He is. I’m Doug Ellis.”
We shake hands. “Allie Hayes. Friend of Dean’s. He was bragging about how well the Hurricanes are doing this year. Better than his team.”
Ellis chuckles wryly. “Briar’s not going to get another Frozen Four appearance this year, which is too bad. How’s Dean taking it?”
“All right, I guess. He wants to win, but…I don’t think hockey is his life. He plans to go to law school next year.” Dean hasn’t spoken of the pros at all, not the way Garrett does. From what I can tell, he loves the game but the game doesn’t define him, which I appreciate. Sometimes Garrett’s hockey talk gets really tiresome. I’m not sure how Hannah handles it, but I guess when you’re in love you overlook things like that.
Beside me, Ellis sighs. “Seems like a damned shame, this law school thing. He’s got teacher written all over him.”
We watch the players run their drill, while Dean takes the time to speak to a few of the skaters who aren’t as fast or as smooth as their teammates. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the kids listen intently. He pats them on the head or back before he lets them go.
“Do you have a kid out there?” I dip my head toward the ice.
“Not anymore. I have a son who played on the Hurricanes but he’s in high school now. One of the other PE teachers offered to take over for me after Wyatt moved on, but I wouldn’t give up this coaching post for anything. Kids at this age are special. They’re hungry to learn, still think an authority figure is there to help them, not hold them back, and just the threat of discipline works as effectively as the actual act of punishment.”