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Every November, the Los Angeles County outdoor ice rink attracts people of all ages and backgrounds, but one thing remains consistent: expertise level. Most people are timid on the ice, gripping the flimsy railing like it'll stop the earthquake inside their bodies. As a seasoned hockey player, it’s hilarious to watch. Except when it’s his own son on the ice. Don't get him wrong, he loves that his son wants to be like his dad; he really is. But Chris has CP. Whether or not he recognizes it, he has limitations.
But Eddie can’t resist forever. Not with those big brown eyes like pennies, filled with enough unbridled hope and happiness to make all the wishes at the bottom of a wishing well come true. Or the wide-rimmed glasses with the strap chord Christopher insists on getting every time they update his prescription despite the fact that he gets teased about them at school. (He’s already had an extensive talk with his old principal, who refused to take any sort of disciplinary action against the students in question, that included a few choice words.)
And that smile… if the sun could smile, it would smile through Christopher.
So Eddie, not one to be unprepared when it comes to his son, loads the car with the appropriate gear to compliment child size skates (thanks, Aunt Adriana): knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet.
“Daaaaaad,” Christopher whines. “I won’t need all of that.”
“Precautions, buddy.”
“But Dad—”
“Christopher, it’s not up for discussion,” Eddie says sternly.
Christopher shrugs through a huffed out “Oooookkayyyy” before allowing himself to be helped into his child seat. Then they’re on their way to downtown L.A.
As usual, the place is packed, and, between the rink and the weather, cold. Even Eddie, who’s accustomed to the cold, has a hard time suppressing a shiver that travels from the base of his spine to his gloved fingertips. But his first thought isn’t on him.
“Dad, I feel like a marshmallow,” Christopher complains as Eddie pulls another coat tight over him. Eddie pulls back to examine the claim. He kinda does look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. But it does give him extra padding on the ice.
But he can’t move the arms sticking straight out on either side, and balance is critical when skating. He starts to unzip the jacket… until he realizes he can’t. He tries everything, pulling, tugging; the zipper must be feeded into the other jacket.
“Can I help out?”
Eddie turns to the sight of—
“ EVAN BUCKLEY ?!” Christopher exclaims.
Evan “Buck” Buckley. 2020 World Championship finalist in figure skating and ten-time gold medalist. At least according to Christopher, who—
“I love you!”
—is a huge fan.
Buck huffs a laugh. To Eddie’s surprise, he crouches down to meet Christopher with a smile. He’s had a talk with a lot of people about speaking directly to his son, instead of talking through Eddie. “Thanks, buddy. How about we get you unzipped so I can shake your hand properly?”
Christopher nods furiously, causing both men to laugh. Buck stays bent down while he pats his blue, glittery suit. When he comes up empty with what he’s searching for, he turns to Eddie. “Do you happen to have a pencil?”
“I do in the car,” Eddie says. “I’ll be right back.”
When he comes back, pencil in hand, he hands it to Buck. With ease, Buck sticks the lead end into the feed, and then he’s unzipping and removing the puffy jacket previously restraining Christopher.
“How—?”
“It’s a trick I learned over the years,” Buck says, shrugging easily as he stands up. He hands the pencil back to Eddie. Even though his hands are in gloves, Eddie can feel a spark of something akin to electricity when they brush. Buck must feel it too, because his hand flies behind his reddening neck that matches the birthmark above his left eye.
“I’m surprised I didn’t know that.” Eddie scoffs. He turns the pencil over a few times in his hand to distract from the blush climbing his own neck. “I’m a hockey player.”
“No way. What team?”
“L.A. Kings,” Eddie returns, gesturing around him. “You know, ‘cos…”
Buck’s smile blends with the creases around his mouth. “Right.” He laughs. “Sorry, I travel a lot. It’s hard to remember what city I’m in sometimes.”
"Wait a second." Eddie snaps his head to Christopher, whose gaze is fixed and unwavering on Buck like he’s the original Mona Lisa. “So that’s why you wanted to come to the rink tonight, Chris?”
“It’s Evan Buckley!” Christopher exclaims, as if that explains everything.
“Oh that’s right, kiddo, I owe you a handshake,” Buck says, turning around before crouching down again to meet Chris. Christopher heartily accepts the handshake—well, as heartily as he can, anyway. It may not be a strong grip, but it’s one filled with enough sunshine to power the Americana Christmas Tree in Glendale.
“Do you skate, kiddo?” Buck asks, again, speaking directly to Christopher.
“No,” Christopher grumbles. “I really really want to though.”
“Well, what’s stopping you?”
Christopher shoots his head to Eddie. With the spotlight on him, Eddie shrugs awkwardly. “Christopher has CP, so it’s hard for him to skate without his crutches.”
Buck returns the shrug. “Hard, but not impossible,” he says, lifting from his crouch again to throw a wink at Eddie. “Not with two professional skaters by his side.”
“DAD!” Christopher yells, tugging on Eddie’s pant leg. “Please?!”
Eddie stumbles over a response. “I-I don’t know, buddy…”
“We have all the stuff in the trunk anyway! I’ll go get it!” Before Eddie can yell for him, Christopher’s crutches are crunching against the frozen slow as he takes off towards the car.
Eddie scoffs as he reaches into his pocket for his car keys to open the trunk. “God, that kid’s gonna be the death of me.”
Buck’s smile is compressed in an attempt to hide his amusement. “Yours, I presume?”
Eddie nods.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to meddle in your parenting at all, I just thought—”
Eddie’s quick to dismiss him with the wave of his hand. “He’s been asking me for forever. I guess I’m just—”
“Terrified?”
“Yeah.” Eddie laughs. “Yeah, actually. Do you have a Christopher?”
“A Jee-Yun, actually,” Buck corrects. “She’s a toddler, so I see how much my sister and my brother-in-law go through watching her stumble and fall. She almost hit her head on the coffee table once.”
“What do they do?”
“Nothing,” Buck replies with another shrug. “I mean, it’s scary as all hell, but it’s part of growing up. It’s how they learn about themselves and the world around them. You let them learn their own limitations. Most of the time though, they’ll jump right back onto the saddle, inhibitions to the wind. You know what they say, youth is wasted on the young.”
“Huh,” Eddie ponders. “I guess I never thought of it like that.”
It’s then that Christopher waddles back to his dad and Buck, little arms teeming with the duffel bag that’s about ready to topple like a Jenga tower. “I’m ready!”
Once they get out on the rink, they each take Christopher’s hand; Eddie to the right, Buck to the left. Like most, Christopher fights against that earthquake trembling inside him, but if anyone is strong enough to tackle one, it’s his son. Sure enough, after two stumbles, Christopher, with the aid of both men, is skating.
Eddie has to fight to keep his composure. Buck notices and offers to take the reins for a few minutes, giving Eddie the opportunity to watch Buck, with his hands in Christopher’s, glide across the ice with ease.
After what feels more like five minutes, Buck sits Christopher down on a nearby bench and approaches Eddie, who’s hanging on the opposite side of the flimsy railing. “You good?”
Eddie turns his head away like he always does to avoid Emotion. Again, to his surprise—because Buck’s full of surprises—, he feels a warm hand underneath his chin guiding him back. As soon as he realizes what he’s done, he yanks his hand away.
“Sorry,” he blurts. “Um… can we forget that happened? I didn’t mean to—”
“Do you wanna go out sometime?” Eddie blurts himself.
Buck’s eyes flutter a few times as a familiar expression plays across his face. It’s an expression Eddie’s seen half a dozen times during a date with a new potential partner. “Ooh,” he sputters. Then a dimpled smile flashes across his face and he’s saying, “I, uh, I’d love to. That is, on one condition: Christopher comes.”
Eddie’s heart picks up in his chest, keeping him warm against the driving cold. “Of course,” he replies. “Besides, I think he’d hate me forever if I didn’t bring him along.”
Buck laughs and perfect timing, because the frosted-over loudspeakers announce that everyone needs to exit the rink for their “special performer.”
Christopher absolutely loses his mind, asking his dad every five seconds if he “caught that” on camera. He doesn’t blame him; Buck is fantastic. He does all these flips and turns in the air Eddie has no idea the name of, but he does them seamlessly.
Another thing he does seamlessly are first dates.
“Are you kidding me?” Eddie scoffs, silently thanking the waiter who refills his water. “You do what I do without protective gear. That’s pretty incredible.”
“Yeah!” Christopher chimes in.
Buck’s smile is small, but genuine as he trades glances between the two Diaz boys. “My dad wanted me to get into hockey. It was our thing growing up. Once I lost that…” He trails off. “Sorry.” He gestures dismissively with this hand. “I don’t know why I’m getting into this. It’s a little heavy for a first date—”
“You didn’t lose anything,” Eddie says before he can second guess himself. “He lost you.”
Eddie’s seen Buck do some amazing flips, but none as good as the smile that turns over on his face. And, for the first time in a long time, Eddie shares a piece of that unbridled hope and happiness his son always wears like a Stay Puft jacket, close to his chest and difficult to remove, and he never wants to take it off.