Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“He didn’t want you to be a figure skater.” It was a statement.
“No, but in Dad’s defense, he was sort of preprogrammed to assume hockey was for boys and figure skating was for girls. I went along with it and played on a little tyke team for a season. I did okay, but it didn’t magically change my mind. I really, really wanted to learn how to spin and jump and…dance on the ice. The Olympics sold my case. We watched an American couple win the first US gold medal in ice dance and Yuzuru Hanyu set a new world record in the men’s short program, and we were all blown away. At least I was.”
“Let me guess. You promised to win a gold, and you got a pair of figure skates on your next birthday.”
I pointed my forefinger at his chest. “Bingo.”
“Still doesn’t explain the hockey skates,” he singsonged.
I picked up speed, my mind drifting into dangerous, nowhere zones of idle promises. It took a moment to realize Gus was waiting for a response.
“Um…yeah. I used to sub on Dad’s hockey team if one of their regulars was out. It became a father-son bonding thing for us while I was in high school. Good timing ’cause I was newly out, and it was a good connection for us. And Dad loved it because those old geezers liked to think a figure skater wasn’t a threat, and proving them wrong was entertaining.”
Gus snickered. “That’s cool. Sounds like you’re close to your dad.”
“I’m close to my mom too. Sadly, they don’t like each other. Not that there’s any active hostility, but since their divorce, my concept of family isn’t tidy and idyllic anymore.”
“No one’s family is idyllic. That’s just Hallmark BS. My folks are together and they like each other fine, but they aren’t exactly couple goals. Everything is a competition in my family. Success is what it’s all about—an elite education, a kickass job, a well-connected partner, two point three kids, and a big ol’ house in the suburbs. It’s easy to say it’s all my mom, but my dad is just as bad. He’s super ambitious. Wants to be noticed, admired, and it’s…exhausting.”
“Do you get along with your father?”
“Sure. In a ‘Hey, long time no see, kiddo. I’m heading to the golf course, but let’s catch up’ kind of way. Or he wants to talk about his glory days playing college hockey, and he loves to compare our stats. It’s like he can’t help himself. My dad’s default is competition and…”
Competition, competition, competition. Ugh.
Shit. Gus was looking at me funny.
“Did I miss something?”
Gus bolted in front of me and skated backward. “Yo, what’s with you tonight? You’re distracted, and your eyes are glazed over. We don’t have to be here, you know. We could be at the house, knockin’ boots and—”
“No talking,” I intercepted with what I hoped came across as a fierce glare. I doubted it, though. “I’m fine.”
He stopped on a dime, his arms spread wide. “Okay, then teach me something, wise one. What d’ya got?”
I opened my mouth to impart a pearl of wisdom and blurted, “I have the yips.”
Gus recoiled in shock and horror. Well…not quite that dramatic, but he definitely registered the severity of my confession.
“What makes you think so?”
I blew a stream of air through my puffed-up cheeks. “The fact that I can’t get more than a few inches off the ice is a major indicator of the early stages of disaster and utter failure. Now, are you ready to follow my advice on how to end your career with a bang?”
He frowned. “Usually I like that smartass mouth, but not when you put yourself down. Start from the top, and tell me what’s going on.”
So I did.
We skated side by side at a leisurely pace as if we were old friends who’d met by chance at the local park. I doubted that the custodian hosing the mats in the visitors’ section gave us a second look. Neither did the dad shooting pucks with his two kids at one end of the rink or the couple stealing smooches in between bursts of showing off their dubious skills. Free skating hours were few and far between at this time of year, and though I would have preferred to have the rink to ourselves, it was nice to see that others were taking advantage of the small window of opportunity…at nine o’clock p.m. on a weekday, no less.
“I know what I’m doing wrong,” I said. “I can feel my muscles tighten as I’m telling myself to relax. Mentally, I know how to correct the problem, but my body isn’t listening to my brain and if I don’t snap out of this funk, like tomorrow, I might be screwed.”
“Are you worried that you won’t qualify for the college thing in July?”