But I’ve just pulled up in front of Nancy’s house, and I can see the warm glow of lights on inside. I’ve done my best to clean myself up and not look so much like the mechanic with stained hands and motor oil for cologne that I have been all day. It looks like I’m going to take Mom’s advice and try to have some fun.
I’m debating whether or not to go inside when the front door opens and Megan steps out onto the front porch. I’m thankful because I know damn well that Nancy’s mind is reeling in the same romantic directions that my mom’s is. Hell, the two older women are probably going to have a gab fest on the phone all fucking evening while we’re gone, planning our futures and naming our future children.
“You look pretty.” The words fall from my lips without thinking when Megan climbs into the passenger side of my truck. And she does. In her baby blue, fitted cashmere sweater and light-colored jeans with a matching blue toque that allows her straightened locks to peek out from underneath it, she looks absolutely adorable. “You look like a puck bunny,” I smirk.
Her initial smile falters slightly, and I see her eyes narrow in the glow of the dashboard lights. “I’d say thanks, but I’m not sure what that means.”
“You don’t know what a puck bunny is?” I ask, incredulous.
“Well, what are you then, a puck daddy?” she sneers, drawing out the last word.
I burst out laughing. “I am most definitely not,” I assure her. “Though that’s quite the term you’ve coined. A puck bunny is a woman with more interest in the hockey players than the game itself, Megan. They dress cute to get the players’ attentions.”
“So, definitely not a compliment. Thanks for that,” she says with pursed lips.
“I said you look cute!” I laugh. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe you didn’t know what a puck bunny was.”
“Well, do you know what a half-soy nonfat decaf iced vanilla frappaccino is, smart guy?”
“Yeah, too much damn effort.” I smile widely, winking at her, which earns me a roll of her eyes and something between a scoff and a chuckle.
“You’re missing the point.”
“Nah, I get it.” I put the truck in drive, pulling away from the curb. “We’re both from different worlds and know different things because of it. But I’ve got news for you, Megan.”
“And what’s that?” she asks, jokingly exasperated.
I steal a quick glance in her direction. “I’m taking you to an arena. You’re about to come crashing into my world. Get ready.”
***
“I’ve got to admit, when you said you couldn’t skate, I figured teaching you was going to be like teaching a young kid, Megan.” I
hold both of her hands, skating backwards while she skates forwards, one foot then the other. “But you’re a natural born skater. Look at you go.”
“Hardly,” she chuckles, her eyes focused on her feet as she concentrates on keeping her balance and moving them smoothly across the ice. “I’m still resembling that baby deer I mentioned earlier, ready to do the splits at any given moment.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
The truth is, I could have let go of her hands a long time ago. Megan has been around this rink a hundred times; she’s got the hang of how to move and what to do to get herself propelled forward and even skating backward.
But I like holding her hands. Feeling the softness of her skin under my fingertips, relishing in the way she pretends to need me and my guidance in order to do this. Because we both know she doesn’t. But I think she likes holding my hands, too.
“Everyone’s leaving,” Megan says, her eyes flitting beyond me toward the exit. I turn and see that she’s right. The other skaters that we’d shared the ice with for the last hour and a half are gliding toward the rink exit, heading toward the locker rooms to unlace their skates and head home.
“Shit, how the hell is it nine o’clock already?” I laugh, leading her across the ice toward the exit as well. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
Her mouth curls up at the corners. “This has been fun,” she grins. “You’ve obviously been enjoying yourself, too.”
“Is it that obvious?” I arch a brow.
“You’ve had a smile plastered on your face since you laced up your skates in the locker room,” she laughs, squeezing my hands tightly. “If you’ve missed being on the ice so much, why haven’t you gotten back into hockey before now?”
“No time,” I reply honestly. “I can’t be vying for a professional hockey career when Ellis needs me.” The thought has my stomach tightening with the urgency to explain how badly I need to be the best father I can be to him, especially since he doesn’t have a mother to balance the love and affection from both sides.
“He does,” she agrees, reaching out for the boards with one hand and gripping my hand tightly in the other as she raises one foot to step off the ice and onto the rubber mats that line the floor. “But you need to be happy, too. Maybe you could hire a nanny, or—”
“I won’t have someone else raise my son for me,” I advise her, my voice tainted with an assertiveness I hadn’t meant to convey. I sigh, letting go of her hand only after she’s up onto the floor with both feet, then run my hands through my hair. “Shit, I’m sorry, Meg. I just...that little boy is my everything. He’s already lost so much. All I can do is put him first no matter what, with hopes he’ll know I tried my best to make up for it.”