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The ice skating was Ted’s venture. In his eyes, the stars were aligned for it: It was January, unseasonably cold, and the team had been antsy and overwrought after a series of losses and barely-scraped-by wins. They needed an outing—not a lecture disguised as an outing, like the infamous sewer field trip, but one where they could cut loose and have fun and enjoy each others’ company off the pitch.
No one took that much convincing, aside from Rebecca, who Ted was determined to include. He wisely left that one to Keeley, who winked at him and promised she’d take care of it. Sure enough, when Ted boards the bus, the entire team already bundled on, there’s Rebecca in the back, swathed in a classy cream jacket that’s probably worth more than his paycheck. He gives her a cheeky wave, and she makes a show of rolling her eyes, but begrudgingly waves back.
Ted slides in next to Beard, who has a bulging backpack in his lap. “Whatcha got there?” he inquires.
“The necessary supplies,” Beard responds ominously.
“I ain’t even gonna ask what that means. I got a feelin’ I’m gonna find out soon enough.” Ted raises his voice to cut through the chatter. “Hey, everybody ready? Got your bus buddies?”
A jovial chorus of yeses resounds through the bus. “Then let’s ride, Jekyll and Hyde!”
The drive is uneventful—at least, as uneventful as a Richmond bus ride ever is. Somehow Bumbercatch ends up on aux, and subjects them all to fifteen minutes of something Ted thinks he hears him call “hypnagogic pop” until Colin wrests back control and replaces it with an incredibly generic Top 100 playlist (which seems to be a reasonable compromise, as everyone tolerates it with minimal grumbling). A betting pot starts regarding who can do the most pirhouettes on ice. Keeley walks the aisle reminding the boys what is and isn’t appropriate to post on their public social media profiles, and which hashtags to use. Trent somehow beats Isaac in an impromptu arm-wrestling match. A large group plays a round of Mafia in which Dani Rojas systematically murders them all one by one with a sunny smile, the suspicion never once on him.
It’s comforting. It puts Ted at ease, to see all of them relaxing and having a good time already. They deserve it, considering how hard each of them have been working on the pitch.
They arrive at the rink mid-evening. It’s a cozy outdoor number with fairy lights strung up in the trees and quiet music piped in through speakers, complete with a little chalet serving up hot cocoa and skate rentals. “It’s so quiet,” says Thierry, baffled, as they disembark the bus.
“We rented out the whole dang place for y’all,” Ted explains. “Less risk of tripping over toddlers that way. Actually, I say we, but Miss Jones here was the one who made that happen. Everyone say thank you, Keeley.”
“Thank you, Keeley,” the boys chorus.
“Aww, boys,” Keeley says cheerily. “Just doing my job.”
“Except it isn’t technically your job anymore,” Jan points out. Sam elbows him.
As they filter in to the chalet to start sorting out skates, Ted hangs back to catch up with Rebecca. “Thanks for comin’, boss,” he says. “It means a lot to the boys to see you here, participatin’ in the group bondin’ and all that.”
“Mmhmm,” says Rebecca, arching an eyebrow. “And by ‘the boys’ you mean you, I presume?”
“I resemble that remark,” Ted retorts. “I mean, yeah, of course I mean me. But them too. I think it bolsters their spirits to see you wanna spend time with them—that you’re invested in them as people, not just as players, you know?”
“I know, I know.” Rebecca waves him off.
They walk out to a little seating area overlooking the rink, where Rebecca settles in, primly adjusting her scarf. “Wait, you ain’t gonna skate?” Ted asks.
“Good grief, Ted, do I look like a skater to you?”
Ted frowns. “Well, yeah, actually, you kinda d—”
Rebecca talks breezily over him as though she can’t hear him. “No no. I’m here to spectate. Once everyone starts getting blisters, they are welcome to come up here for light conversation. That is my contribution to this little outing.”
There’s something forced about her airy demeanor, but Ted doesn’t know why, and doesn’t have enough ammo to push it at the moment, so he lets it drop. “Whatever you say, Brian May.”
“I take it you know how to skate?” she inquires.
“It’s basically a rite of passage for a Midwesterner,” Ted says with a chuckle. “I’m no aficionado, but I can keep my balance. I did a little hockey when I was growin’ up. Ice hockey, I guess I gotta specify here.”
“Yes, I assumed as much, given where we are right now.” Rebecca flicks a hand at him. “Alright, shoo. Get out there. I look forward to seeing your skating prowess.”
“Okay, okay. Talk to you later, boss.”
Ted still hesitates, not wanting to leave her alone, but perfectly timed, Higgins appears with a cup of hot cocoa in each hand. He looks wonderfully cozy in a knit hat and big floppy mittens, his glasses fogging up. “Oh, Ted. Would you like me to get you one, too?”
“Oh, nah, that’s alright, I’d just spill it all over the dang place. Thank you much, Higgins. Here to keep the boss company?”
“Here to drink hot cocoa and watch the boys get into trouble,” Higgins corrects with a gleam in his eye.
“Yeah, I bet you’re no stranger to watching boys get into trouble, huh?” More at ease knowing Rebecca has company, Ted claps Higgins on the arm. “Okay, I’m off to join them. Wish me luck down there.”
“I will laugh at you when you fall down,” Rebecca calls at his back as he turns to leave.
“I would expect nothing less.”
Pushing through the doors back into the interior of the chalet, Ted joins the boys in line for skate rentals. “You fellas skated before?” he asks the group nearest him.
“Never,” Sam proclaims joyfully, rocking on the balls of his feet. “I’m sure I’ll be terrible. I can’t wait to try it.”
Ted points at him. “Everyone hear that? That is the attitude I want every single one of y’all to have. Not just about skatin’, neither.”
“You want us to assume we will be terrible at everything?” Jan asks, confused.
Ted pauses, frowning. “Well. No.”
“No, he wants us to be willing to try an’ have fun and get better at things even if we aren’t good at them straight away,” Jamie butts in, as though spelling out something obvious to a dense class of kindergarteners.
Man, he’s come so far. “That’s exactly it, Jamie,” Ted praises.
Jamie smiles smugly. “Not that that applies to me anyway,” he adds, completely ruining the moment. “I’m an amazin’ skater.”
Sam gives him a playful shove. “Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.”
At the back of the line, by the time Ted gets his skates, almost everyone else has vacated the chalet already. He sits on a bench and laces them up, reminiscing. He hasn’t done this for years. The last time would have been back in Kansas with Henry and Michelle, back before things… fell apart. He remembers he and Michelle skating with one of Henry’s tiny mittened hands held tightly in each of theirs, making sure he didn’t fall as they glided slowly around the rink.
He expects the memory to hurt more than it does. There’s a familiar ache there, of course. He suspects that might never go away. But it doesn’t feel raw like it used to, doesn’t hurt enough to overcome the excitement he feels at getting to make new skating memories with new people.
Leaving the chalet, Ted hobbles down the stairs to the rink and pauses at the edge, looking out. Shouting and laughter already echo over the surface of the ice as the boys stumble and shove and play around. The scene makes him smile.
He’s about to step out when he hears familiar voices approaching from behind him. “I’m telling you, it’s gonna be fine! Go on, get out there!”
“It’s not gonna be fine. Stop fucking lying to me.”
“I would never lie to you, Roy.”
“You lie to me all the time. Just yesterday you told me that fucking movie wasn’t gonna make me cry.”
“Oh, come on, how was I supposed to know the dog would remind you of your childhood dog that died when you were six?”
“I was seven. And she wasn’t just a childhood dog. She was my soulmate.”
Ted grins at their back-and-forth. “Roy, Keeley,” he greets them. “Enjoyin’ your night?”
“I’d be enjoying it more if this great big lump would stop moping around and just get out there and skate!” Keeley pushes on Roy’s back with both hands, leaning her full body weight into him to try to egg him forwards. He doesn’t even react, just nodding in greeting to Ted as though Keeley is nothing more than a very large pink fly that has landed on him.
“Aw, Roy. You’re really gonna keep the lady waiting?” Ted winks at Keeley, who stops pushing on Roy to beam at him. She looks as stylish as ever in a pale pink trench coat and crisp white figure skates she must have brought from home, her long caramel hair in two braids.
“She doesn’t have to wait for me,” Roy grumps, but reaches for her hand anyway.
At that moment, Sam appears, heading back towards the chalet with a glum expression. Concerned, Ted calls, “Hey, Sam, where ya goin’? Not quittin’ already, I hope?”
Sam sighs ruefully. “I owe Jamie twenty pounds,” he says, like that explains everything, and trudges past them in search of his wallet. The three of them exchange a glance and a shrug.
Keeley starts to tug on Roy’s hand again, and he stumbles after her, not even on the ice yet and already off-balance. “By the way, thanks for coming up with this, Ted,” she chirps. “It was a great idea.”
“Well, you’re welcome, Keels. Glad you think so.” Ted follows them, finally stepping down onto the ice. He wobbles a little at first, out of practice, but his muscle memory kicks in, reinforced by the crisp scrape of the blades. He glides a little ways and turns in a neat circle to see how Roy and Keeley are faring.
…The consensus is, not good. Roy is quaking like a baby deer, his entire body wobbling like a sheet of laminated paper. He grabs Keeley, who slips and totters, shrieking. “Roy! Stop it! You’re gonna pull me over!”
She manages to detach him from her and attach him to the wall instead, which he clutches like a lifeline, still shaking. “I told you,” he growls, but it comes out more like a plea than an accusation.
“Jesus, Roy.” Keeley peers at him, baffled and concerned. “I didn’t think it could possibly be that bad.”
“Well it is,” Roy huffs.
He’s starting to say something else when a blur of motion whizzes past them, moving so fast that all three of them jump. Doubling back, the blur slows and materializes into one Jamie Tartt, staring at Roy with wide eyes. “Oh my God,” he says gleefully, sliding to a graceful halt in front of them that sends up a fine spray of ice particles.
Recalling the conversation in the chalet and the betting that had taken place on the bus, Ted suddenly understands why Sam owes Jamie twenty pounds.
Keeley is thoroughly distracted. “Wow, Jamie! Where did you learn to skate like that?”
“Took ballet growing up,” Jamie says offhandedly. He is trying so hard to be nonchalant that it is practically oozing out of his pores, standing with a little slouch and running a hand through his hair. “It mostly transfers over.”
“Does it?” Keeley appraises him, startled. “Can you teach Roy?”
“No,” Roy hisses.
“What, ballet?”
Keeley just stares at him until he gets it. “Ohh, ice skatin’. Sure. Roooy,” Jamie sing-songs, skating over to throw an arm over Roy’s shoulders.
“Get your hands off me, Tartt.” Despite his words, Roy’s shaking decreases somewhat, as though Jamie’s mere presence has somehow stabilized him.
“Remember the windmills?” Jamie prompts. “I’m so good at teachin’. I can make a proper Olympian outta you in no time.”
“Fuck off.” Roy shoves him away, though (Ted notes) not as hard as he could have. “I don’t need your help.”
Jamie looks him up and down, judgmental. “Mm. Sure don’t look like it. But okay, suit yourself.”
Glancing around for ideas, Ted spots something a few yards away. He pauses, unsure whether to bring it up, but Jamie follows his gaze and his face lights up. “Oh, fuck yes. Roy, look.”
He skates away and returns seconds later pushing a skate trainer shaped like a penguin, complete with bulging eyes and little red skis and handlebars to hold onto for balance. Jamie gestures at it gleefully. “See? It’s perfect.”
Roy glares at it dubiously. “C’mon, Roy, at least give it a try,” encourages Keeley.
Roy’s gaze travels to Ted, as though asking to be put out of his misery. Ted gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm. “You got this, Roy.”
Heaving a deep sigh, Roy manages to transfer his weight from the wall to the penguin, gripping the handlebars tightly. It’s about two and a half feet tall, clearly made for an elementary schooler, so he has to hunch to grab onto it. To his credit, Jamie hovers as though ready to catch him if the need arises.
“Okay, now try walking,” Keeley prompts, clasping her hands expectantly.
Obediently, Roy takes a few tiny shuffling steps forward. He’s still unsteady, but he doesn’t seem like a fall risk anymore, which is progress. Keeley, Jamie, and Ted cheer.
“Okay, come on, come on,” Jamie urges, practically wriggling with impatience. “There’s a whole other wing over there. I wanna show you my spins.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Ted says, exchanging a private smile with Keeley. She darts over to give him a kiss on the cheek before rejoining her boys. Ted watches them go, smiling at the sight of Roy shuffling along, stooped over the penguin, Keeley gliding neatly beside him, and Jamie skating around them both, weaving out and back like a yo-yo and yammering away all the while. Sometimes it feels like as long as the three of them are together, everything in the world will be alright.
Skating along the edge of the rink in the other direction, Ted glances up at the patio, where Rebecca and Higgins are watching. They both wave at him. There’s something wistful in Rebecca’s smile. “Sure you don’t wanna join us?” he shouts.
“Positive. Thank you, Ted.”
Higgins gives him a little I don’t know shrug. Ted skates on.
A little ways up ahead, a crowd has gathered. “What’s goin’ on up here?” Ted asks Richard, who’s closest. He gets soundly shushed. Richard points, shifting so Ted has room to see through the throng of onlookers.
The boys have formed a wide half-circle around none other than Coach Beard, who is dressed in a female figure skater’s competition outfit. It’s a beautiful getup, pale blue and white with trailing bits on the sleeves, even if it’s about two sizes too small for the balding middle-aged man presently wearing it. Colin is holding a Bluetooth speaker above his head, which is playing a sweeping classical piece that competes with the music already coming from the rink’s speakers. Eyes closed, thoroughly consumed in the music, Beard is doing a figure skating routine, twirling and spinning and flourishing.
Ted watches with his mouth open, his expression mirrored by many of the players around him. Based on some muttering he hears, Beard is apparently recreating an Olympic skater’s famous routine from many years ago, down to a replica of the very outfit she wore. There are some stumbles, and the fancy jumps are mostly ommitted, but it’s still really something to watch.
Eventually the piece comes to a close, and Beard strikes his final pose, reaching dramatically up towards the sky. The crowd goes wild, and he takes a deep bow.
“My friend, I’m pretty sure your portrait is in the dictionary under ‘hidden depths’,” Ted says, when Beard skates over to him afterwards.
Beard shrugs. “When an opportunity presents itself,” he says simply. Then, “I’m gonna go put some pants on.”
Ted claps him on the back, nodding emphatically and carefully averting his eyes from the many parts of Beard’s body the costume reveals that he’d rather not see. “Good call.”
The crowd starts to dissipate, clumping up into little groups. Ted pulls up alongside Sam and Thierry, who are slowly skating along together, sticking close to the wall. Sam has ice shavings all over his pants that speak of multiple falls, but his face is still split by a bright grin. Truly an indomitable spirit. “How’s it goin’, fellas?” Ted asks.
“Thierry is being very kind and sticking with me despite the fact that I am hopeless at skating,” Sam reports cheerfully.
“You’re not hopeless!” Thierry insists, encouraging. “It’s been, like, at least five minutes without you falling this time. That’s way better than it was at first!”
Sam smiles ruefully at Ted as if to say, See? “My legs are going to be one big bruise tomorrow. There will be more bruise than leg,” he laments.
“That’s a warrior’s mark. A sign of your determination,” Thierry declares.
“Well said,” Ted agrees. “What about you, you do a lot of skating back home?”
“…I’m from Montréal.”
“Yep, shoulda guessed.” Ted appraises Sam’s form. “Try not to think of it like walkin’,” he offers. “You’re not takin’ steps, you’re pushin’ off. Lean your weight side to side—trust those blades to carry your weight, just like you trust your teammates out there on the pitch. You don’t even gotta lift the other foot up at first if that helps ya keep your balance.”
Brow furrowed in focus, Sam tries. He loses his balance immediately, but Thierry grabs one of his arms and Ted grabs the other, keeping him on his feet. “You got it. Give it another shot,” Ted encourages.
Sam plants his feet again and pushes off. Trusting that they won’t let him fall, he slowly builds confidence, his stride lengthening and stabilizing. “Yes! You’re doing it!” Thierry cries. In his excitement, he lets go of Sam’s arm, and Sam topples. Ted doesn’t loosen his grip, and they go crashing down together. Ted groans as his hip makes contact with the ice, already predicting the bruise he’ll have tomorrow.
“Oh shit! My bad,” Thierry gasps. “Coach, are you okay?”
“No ‘are-you-okay’s for Sam?” Sam protests, mock-offended. “…No, but seriously, Coach. Are you okay?”
Ted waves them off, although his hip is throbbing like the devil. “Aw, come on. I ain’t so old that a tiny tumble like that is gonna break my bones. More importantly, Sam, that was awesome! You were really gettin’ the hang of it for a minute there!”
Sam smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Maybe I’m not hopeless after all.”
Sam makes it to his feet with minimal assistance, and the two of them reach down to pull Ted up as well. He can’t quite hold back a grimace, rubbing his sore hip. “Man. This ice stuff is awful hard, ain’t it?”
“Oh, Coach,” Sam says with feeling. “Tell me about it.”
Ted leaves them to it, skating off—albeit a bit more stiffly than before—to continue his pilgrimage of making sure everyone is having a good time.
Along the far edge of the rink, he makes out a familiar figure sitting on a bench with his legs crossed, a notebook spread open in his lap. He doesn’t look up until Ted has skated right up to him, adjusting his glasses. “Hello, Ted. Enjoying yourself?”
“Hello yourself, Trent Crimm. I sure am, how about you? Feeling independent, sitting all the way over here all by your lonesome?”
Trent doesn’t even acknowledge the terrible pun, closing his notebook and setting it aside. “The ambience here is nice for writing,” he comments, adding with a pointed glance over Ted's shoulder, “and people-watching.”
Ted turns to follow his gaze. Roy is still clinging to the penguin, but his skating speed has increased drastically. Well, skating is a strong word for it—it’s more like a dead sprint across the ice, the penguin fishtailing wildly as he careens after Jamie, who’s harassing him. Jamie keeps darting in to poke him and then zip out of range again, laughing uproariously the whole time. Keeley is trailing after, giggling and taking pictures.
“That gonna make it into the book?” Ted asks, turning back to Trent.
Trent smirks. “I guess you’ll just have to see.”
“Boo.”
“That’s not what I’m working on right now, anyway,” Trent adds, and then frowns, as though surprised at the words that have just come out of his own mouth.
“Oh? Slacking off on the job?” Ted teases.
“I believe that was more or less the point of this outing, so…”
“I know, I know. I’m just teasin’. What were you working on, then, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Trent clears his throat, taking off his glasses. “I was… writing some poetry, actually.”
“Poetry?” Ted echoes, surprised. “Well, how about that. I wouldn’t have thought that’d be your style.”
Trent smiles wryly. “I certainly haven’t done it much, if at all, in… oh, probably years.”
“What changed?” Ted can’t help but be curious. He wants to ask if he can read it, but he gets the feeling that would be pushing a little too far, knowing how personal that sort of writing can be. Michelle had dabbled in poetry back in the day, and had always been fiercely protective of her work, never even letting Ted read a single word of it.
“I don’t know exactly,” Trent answers, and it sounds honest, like he’s really thinking the question over. “Inspiration struck, I suppose.”
Ted’s never written a lick of poetry in his life, but looking around them at the lights and the ice and the laughter, he can see how it might inspire such things. “You gonna join us out there?”
“No, no. I’m just here to watch,” Trent says demurely. It’s almost word-for-word what Rebecca said as well, but Ted elects not to bring that up.
“You sure? You’re really missin’ out, y’know,” Ted wheedles.
“I think I can glean everything I’m going to here sitting on the sidelines,” Trent replies, firm.
“But where’s the fun in that?” Ted leans back and taps his chin, thinking hard for a moment, and comes to a decision. He’s always been good at knowing when and how to push—comes with being a coach, maybe—and he thinks this one might require a different touch. He suddenly leans forward with a frown, adopting a suspicious demeanor. “Lemme see those hands of yours. I gotta check somethin’.”
Trent blinks. “My hands?”
“You heard me. Show ‘em.”
Thoroughly confused, Trent holds out his hands. Ted’s succeeded—Trent has no idea what he’s planning…
…so he’s completely taken by surprise when Ted grabs him firmly by both hands and yanks. The sound that flies out of his mouth is generously a yelp, more accurately a shriek. “Ted!”
Ted drags him backwards onto the ice, cackling at his expression. Trent’s white Converse have virtually no traction on the slippery surface, and his feet immediately slide out from under him, forcing him to cling to Ted’s hands with a vice grip. “What the fuck are you doing,” he protests, flushed with humiliation.
“Teachin’ you that you’re wrong,” Ted explains happily. “I know you and your notebook are awful observant. But there are things you can only glean, to use your own word, by bein’ in the thick of it. Things you’ll never quite get if you’re always sittin’ on the sidelines.”
Trent looks vaguely chagrined. It’s a journalist’s perpetual dilemma, Ted supposes, trying to strike that balance between keeping a professional level of distance while getting close enough to delve into the heart of what makes a story truly interesting.
But Ted isn’t a journalist, and he doesn’t care about that. As Trent himself had alluded to, the point of this outing had been to get all of them to have fun without thinking about work for once. Why shouldn’t that apply here, too?
Maybe Trent is thinking along the same lines, because while he makes a show of sighing and rolling his eyes, he doesn’t voice another protest, and lets Ted pull him slowly along. Ted swizzles his skates, moving backwards in neat little arcs, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he isn’t going to collide with anything. They fall into a rhythm, Trent mostly keeping his balance with the aid of Ted’s hands and continual motion. “See? This is nice, ain’t it?” Ted prods.
“No comment,” Trent says, but he’s smiling now, which means Ted wins.
They pass by the patio again. Rebecca watches them from on high, raising her eyebrows. She’s alone now, Higgins having been coaxed down rinkside by the boys. “Should I even ask how he managed that?” she asks Trent.
“Not unless you want to risk meeting the same fate,” Trent quips back dryly.
“Ted knows better than to try any funny business on me. Isn’t that right, Ted?”
Ted just makes a no guarantees gesture, and Trent says, “That’s a funny joke,” and Rebecca wrinkles her nose at both of them. (Ted’s so glad those two get along now, even if the combined power of their sarcasm is a little terrifying at times.)
They’re moving back into the more populated area of the rink. A few of the boys wave and whoop when they see who Ted has dragged along. “How’d you pull that off?” demands Colin, skidding up to them with a look of offended disbelief. “I tried my best, but I couldn’t talk ‘im into it.”
“Oh, there wasn’t a lot of talking involved. I opted for a more physical solution,” Ted tells him.
Two pairs of eyebrows shoot up at the phrasing. “What?” Ted asks, puzzled by their reactions.
Trent and Colin exchange a glance. “Nothing,” they say in perfect unison. “Hey, Coach, mind if I steal ‘im from you?” Colin adds.
Ted spends all of three seconds wondering what that’s about, then forgets about it. “Go right ahead.”
His feet are getting tired anyway, so after foisting Trent off on Colin, he skates back over to the chalet, remembering Rebecca’s comment about offering conversation once blisters develop. He sits to take his skates off, rolling his ankles and sighing in relief.
When he steps out onto the patio, a small gaggle of players are on their way out, looking somewhat disappointed. “A valiant effort, boys,” Rebecca calls after them, sounding a bit smug.
Ted settles into a nearby chair with a contented sigh. “They try to talk you into skatin’?”
“What gave it away?” Rebecca drains the last of her cocoa. “Unluckily for them, if I caved to pressure that easily, I would not be where I am today.”
“That’s sure true. You’re cool as a cucumber. Rebecca Welton, cool cucumber. That’s what I always say.”
“Oh, pish.” She swats him affectionately.
They gaze out over the rink in companionable quiet for a while, watching everyone enjoy themselves. It’s getting quite dark by now, the rink illuminated by the warm glow of the lights. Ted watches Rebecca, studying the lines of her face, the way her breath curls out into the frigid air. It’s just the two of them now, and her facade seems to have lowered a little, like she’s not making as much of an effort to hide the pain on her face, the nostalgia and wistfulness.
Ted clears his throat; speaks gently. “Now I don’t wanna pry…”
“It’s alright, Ted,” she responds quietly, matching his tone. “You can ask.”
“I’m gettin’ the feeling there might be a reason you aren’t out there right now despite the fact that you clearly want to be. A bigger reason than laziness or not wantin’ to embarrass yourself in front of the boys.”
Rebecca nods once, not looking at him. She looks so, so sad. It makes Ted’s chest ache.
He dares to ask. “Does this by chance have somethin’ to do with Rupert?”
Rebecca’s smile is bitter. “What gave it away?”
“Just a lucky guess.” Ted turns to look out over the rink, pondering what to say. But as it turns out, he doesn’t need to—after a few seconds, Rebecca breaks the silence herself.
“I took figure skating lessons as a child.”
When Ted looks back at her, a faint smile is lingering on her lips. Her eyes sparkle, reflecting the fairy lights strung up all around them. “I loved it so much. I was good at it, too. I was even in a few local competitions.” She shakes her head. “Being out there on the ice by myself, all eyes on me, wearing a beautiful outfit and moving to the music, using every part of my body, the sound and feel of my blades on the ice… it was the best feeling in the world. There was simply nothing else that came close.”
Ted doesn’t know what Rebecca looked like at that age, but somehow he can picture it so clearly—the young girl twirling gracefully on the ice, alight with joy. He wants to believe that carefree girl is still in there somewhere, that she hasn’t let life completely squash her into nothing.
“I did it less as I grew older, but I still tried to find time to go to the rink. Especially on days when I was feeling overwhelmed by life, or down on myself. It cleared my head. It was… my escape, I suppose you could say.”
Ted wonders if he’s ever had something like that. Something he loved so much that it had the power to, if only for a short while, chase everything else—all the noise and anxiety and doubt—out of his mind. He doesn’t think so. As much as he loved football, and as much as he loves coaching, they have always been inextricably tied in his mind to all the skeletons in his closet; all the ways he falls short. In a way, he’s jealous.
“Then Rupert came along.” Rebecca’s face shutters. There’s something in the way she says his name, always is, that’s hard to listen to. Bitter and scornful, but with a hollow echo of where love had once been. “He discouraged me from going to the rink. I didn’t really realize he was doing it at the time. It was always one thing or the other—‘oh, Rebecca, how about we go out instead?’ or ‘oh, Rebecca, don’t you think you ought to be getting some work done today?’”
Her lip curls. “And then, every year, he’d drag me to a social at an ice arena in London hosted by some sports executive. It was a good opportunity for us to schmooze and make connections with all the right people, he said. He loved to brag to his horrible friends that I had once been a figure skater, and then follow that up with some joke about how that was many years ago. Implying I was far past my prime, that no one in their right mind would ever want to see such a thing anymore.”
Rebecca clenches her fists, apparently unconsciously, gloves scrunching in her lap. “And then, one year, he made that joke, and one of his friends asked to see. Asked me to perform a routine for them. Of course, I politely declined. I’d barely skated in years at that point. But Rupert… he just looked at me. Smiling. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Go on. Show them what you can do.’”
She swallows hard. There are tears brimming in her eyes now. “What other choice did I have? He’d backed me into a corner. All of them were looking at me. I would reflect badly on both of us if I continued to refuse. And besides, some foolish part of me wanted to prove to them, and to myself, that I could still do it. So I… I tried. And it was dreadful, of course. I had a bad fall and sprained my wrist. And when I looked up, just for a moment, holding back tears from the pain… they were all laughing at me. Rupert included.”
Ted is not a hateful man. But if there is anyone in this world he despises, it is Rupert Mannion.
Wordlessly, he reaches for Rebecca. Their chairs are far enough apart that it’s awkward, but she leans in to meet him, and he hugs her tightly. “I’m sorry,” she says, sniffling into his ear. “This is ridiculous.”
“No it ain’t,” Ted says fiercely. “What’s ridiculous is how that piece of shit treated a wonderful, incredible woman like you.”
Rebecca gives a startled little sob-laugh, pulling back and wiping delicately at her eyes. “Goodness, Ted. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you speak that harshly of someone before.”
“If anyone deserves it, it’s him,” Ted says. And he means it, but—this isn’t about Rupert Mannion. He refuses to even give the man the dignity of his anger for long. What’s the point, when he could be spending his energy on counteracting the hate and pain he’d put out into the world with love instead? “And you deserve so much better, boss. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” Rebecca takes a deep breath, steadying. “I didn’t, for a long time. But I do now. …Thank you, Ted.”
He smiles softly at her. It’s quiet for a moment.
“Listen,” Ted says. “I been skatin’ around with everyone for a hot minute now. Got the bruises and blisters to show for it. And you know what the best part of it is?”
Rebecca shakes her head. “It’s the way they support each other,” Ted explains. “Some of them ain’t never stepped foot on the ice before. Some of ‘em have. But they ain’t judgin’ each other. They’re helpin’ each other out, and celebratin’ each other, and having fun.”
Eyebrows drawing together, Rebecca looks back out at the rink. As if on cue, Sam skates clumsily by, turning to wave up at them with a bright grin. Rebecca waves back, her face full of fondness.
“Rupert ain’t even here right now, Rebecca,” Ted says softly. “Don’t let him take yet another thing you love away from you.”
“God.” Rebecca sniffles again, tilting her head back and blinking rapidly, her lashes fluttering. “God, Ted, how did I manage to end up with someone so wonderful in my life?”
Ted loves her so much. “Aww, boss. I ask myself that same question every darn day.”
Rebecca abruptly jumps to her feet, a new bright gleam in her eyes. “Put your skates on,” she commands, and strides purposefully into the chalet, leaving Ted to scramble after her, tripping over his chair.
A few minutes later, both clad in skates now, they stand at the edge of the rink together. Ted looks over at Rebecca. “Okay?”
She takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’m excited,” she says softly, wonderingly, and steps out.
Ted sees it immediately. The way she moves on the ice isn’t like how any of the rest of them move. It’s effortlessly graceful, natural. It looks like how coming home feels. She isn’t even doing anything flashy yet, just carving out simple, smooth turns, but Ted can’t tear his eyes away.
“Coming?” she calls to him.
He nearly jumps. “Right!”
She skates on, growing in confidence, weaving her way through the rink, adding flourishes with her arms. Ted trails after her, awed. The others start taking notice, turning to watch, gasping and exclaiming. Rebecca closes her eyes, her face consumed by a smile, and though she’s surrounded by people on all sides, in that moment she’s alone on the ice. She looks serene. She looks the most at peace that Ted has ever seen her. He envies her a little. He’s happy for her.
Eventually she slides to a graceful halt, catching her breath. Everyone applauds. “Miss Rebecca! You look like an ángel!” exclaims Dani. There’s a chorus of agreement from several of the other players who have gathered around.
“Oh, I—” Ted can see the deferral forming on Rebecca’s lips, but she pauses and changes course. “That’s very kind of you, Dani. Thank you.”
And Ted doesn’t say I told you so, because he’s Ted, and he wouldn’t dream of such a thing, but Rebecca gives him a look anyway, and he counters it with a cheeky wink that says everything it needs to. He feels incandescently happy, a warmth in his chest like a lightbulb.
“Tartt, I am going to rip off your balls and shove them so far up your arse that the next time you—”
Ted jumps back just in time to get out of the way as Jamie whizzes past, cackling like a madman. He’s got the penguin trainer in hand, which means…
Ted’s head swivels. Sure enough, there comes Roy, careening after him, swearing up a storm. “Roy, slow down!” Keeley cries from a ways back. She’s too late. The toe of Roy’s skate catches on a tiny divot in the ice and he goes down, sprawling on his belly like a—well, like a penguin. He slides a little ways and ends up right at Rebecca’s feet. He looks up at her. She looks down at him.
“…Hi, Rebecca.”
“Hello, Roy.”
“Good to see you out here. You skate well.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
Keeley skids up to them, breathless. “Roy! Are you alright?”
Roy flips over onto his back to look up at her. “I’m gravely fuckin’ wounded and I might die.”
“You dramatic little shit.” She offers him a hand, which he takes… and promptly uses to pull her down on top of him, both of them collapsing in laughter. Ted and Rebecca exchange a smile.
Roy and Keeley make it to their feet just as Jamie makes it back to them, the penguin trainer abandoned somewhere along the way. “You little twat,” Roy tells him, the words completely contradicted by the fond tone of his voice.
Jamie responds accordingly, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Aw, Roy. You flatter me.”
Roy tackles him. They go down hard, wrestling, but Ted doesn’t miss that Roy gets a hand in place to make sure Jamie doesn’t hit his head, and Jamie has one leg bent so that Roy’s bad knee is suspended off the ice. Rebecca leans over and mutters into Ted’s ear, “I’m getting a strange sense of deja vu from this. Is is just me?”
“Not just you, boss,” Ted confirms.
They both look at Keeley, who bites her lip, her eyes dancing. “Rebecca,” she says. “Can we—girl talk?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
They skate away together, heads bent in serious discussion, although their height difference makes it a little comical. Jamie hops to his feet and pulls Roy up, and whatever’s going on there is promptly interrupted by Isaac and Moe skating over with arms full of hockey sticks.
“Right, who’s in?” Isaac demands.
“Ooh, are we playing hockey? Isaac, do you play?” Ted asks, brightening. He’d noticed the hockey equipment for rent and the goals in one section of the rink, but had assumed no one would want to play.
“Used to, before I settled on football,” Isaac explains. “I’m captaining one team. Hughes, you’re taking the other.”
“Eh? I am?” Colin points at himself, startled, with one mittened hand. “Why?”
“Yeah, bruv. ‘Cause I said so. You know how to play.”
“Only from you dragging me to the rink every other day when we were wee tots. I was always rubbish at it and you bossed me around like mad.”
Isaac scratches his head. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Yeah, whatever. Tartt, you’re with me,” Colin pivots immediately, pointing at Jamie.
Jamie skates over to give him a fist bump, waggling his eyebrows. “First pick, baby,” he brags. In his accent it sounds like bay-beh.
Isaac growls out a sigh, but seems to decide it’s fair play. “Okay, fine. I pick Thierry. Colin?”
“Uhh…” Colin considers. “Does my… barnacle count?”
Isaac casts a critical eye over Trent, who has been clinging to Colin’s arm this entire time. “You can have him as a freebie,” he decrees.
“Insulted by both sides,” Trent mutters.
“Okay, then I’m taking the gaffer,” Colin decides.
“Wowza, Colin, I’m awfully honored,” Ted says, and he genuinely means that because he vividly remembers being a little boy and crossing his fingers the team captain would choose him. And back then, his competition weren’t professional athletes half his age. “This is a mighty big responsibility you’ve put on my shoulders, draftin’ me onto your team.”
Colin matches his energy, looking him seriously in the eyes. “You had better not let me down.”
“I promise you I will do my very best, Kanye West.”
The draft continues until the whole team has been sorted, along with Beard, Roy, and Will. Just when they’re finishing up, Rebecca and Keeley skate back over. “You two wanna keep score for us?” Ted asks.
They exchange a glance, steel sparking in their eyes. “Hell fucking no we don’t,” Keeley says.
“Absolutely not,” agrees Rebecca. “We’re playing.”
A cheer goes up. After a brief scuffle, Keeley ends up on Isaac’s team and Rebecca on Colin’s. Higgins volunteers to keep score instead, perching cheerily on the wall with what has to be at least his third cup of cocoa, and the game can finally begin.
“Everyone shake hands before we start,” Isaac commands.
The players dutifully do as they’re told, though not without some ribbing. “Eat shit, losers,” Jamie says with relish as he shakes Dani’s hand.
“Now Jamie, is that any kinda way to talk to your teammates?” Ted reprimands lightheartedly.
“Teammates?” Jamie raises his eyebrows. “Coach, those ain’t me teammates. They’re me rivals now. And they’re going down.”
“That is the spirit,” agrees Dani with feeling. “We will crush you into such a fine powder that they will have to use a vacuum to suck you up!” (He pronounces it “va-koom” and somehow that doesn’t make the threat any less terrifying.)
The game is every bit as intense as promised. Colin’s team starts off strong—falling back on familiar patterns, Ted takes the extra pass and sets Jamie up perfectly to smash the puck into the goal, whooping in triumph. “That’s the way, Coach!”
“Total hockey!” Ted crows. He’d almost forgotten that he loves playing sports almost as much as he loves coaching them.
Colin punches him on the arm. “Picked you for a reason, Coach.”
But their forward momentum doesn’t last long. Isaac is a machine, single-mindedly making attempt after attempt on their goal and sinking two in quick succession. Richard manages to score one more for Colin’s team, but it’s mostly a fluke borne of Keeley accidentally whacking Sam in the nose with her stick and distracting everyone else. Dani and Beard do an admittedly really cool play and bring the score to 3-2 for Isaac’s team, and further attempts to bring it back to a tie are met with no success. There are just a couple minutes left on the timer they’d set. Higgins is biting his fingernails. Things aren’t looking good.
Colin calls for a team huddle. “We’ve gotta make a plan.”
“Isaac is just too good,” laments Moe. “He’s practically unstoppable.”
“If our defense can’t keep him at bay, then we simply need to focus on our offense and score before he can,” offers Rebecca, which is a little comedic in its simplicity, but technically true.
“But their defense is good too,” Richard points out, his accent getting thicker like it always does when he’s frustrated. “Our last several shots on goal have not gotten us fucking anywhere.”
There’s a silence as everyone racks their brains for a new approach. Ted mentally filters through folders upon folders of football strategies of both varieties, searching for something that might help and coming up empty.
“The problem is it’s all too predictable.” Several surprised pairs of eyes land on Trent, who has been passed off to Will now. “We’re not playing strangers, we’re playing our very own team. Any familiar strategies that we pull out, even ones that typically confound our rivals, they’re going to see right through. Our only chance is to hit them with something that will surprise them so much they won’t have time to recover.”
There’s a moment of startled silence. “Yeah,” says Colin wonderingly, nodding, cogs turning visibly in his head. “Yeah, exactly.” He grabs Trent by the shoulders. “I’m sorry I called you a barnacle, mate.”
“Water under the bridge.”
“Or ice, as the case may be,” Ted offers. “Hey, everyone, huddle close, ‘cause I’ve got an idea.”
They huddle closer, bumping shoulders. Ted explains. Colin’s eyes gleam. Rebecca squeezes his arm. “That will definitely surprise them,” says Trent approvingly.
“Fucking mint,” says Jamie, so it must be a good plan.
They split, taking up their positions. Isaac’s team readies themselves across from them. Higgins clutches his cocoa, on the edge of his seat.
The puck drops to the ice. Isaac takes control immediately and passes it to Keeley, who passes it to Jan. Colin’s team hang back, playing defensively. As Jan tries to pass back to Isaac, Jamie gets control and breaks away, skating fast towards the other goal. Isaac’s team moves smoothly, falling in place to defend. Jamie has no clear shot at the goal and no one to pass to; he’s in the thick of enemy territory.
So he doesn’t try. Suddenly pivoting, he makes a long pass back in the opposite direction. Rebecca receives it and passes to Moe, who—flings it directly towards their own goal. “What the fuck?” Roy blurts aloud from where he’s attempting to guard Ted.
O’Brien blocks it and, before anyone can react, gets under the puck and sends it sailing in a long, tall arc over everyone’s heads. All anyone can do is turn and stare as it lands in front of the other team’s now nearly undefended goal… where Will is innocuously waiting to whack it in.
Colin’s team erupts. “YEAH!” Ted roars, slapping hands with his teammates, a rush of triumph surging through him. Higgins spills his cocoa everywhere. Trent whoops, pumping his fists in the air, and Richard has to grab him by the jacket so he doesn’t topple over.
“Overtime! Overtime!” Jamie chants. Higgins gestures frantically, tossing away his cocoa-soiled mittens to add time to the timer.
“We did it,” says Rebecca with relish. “We got into their heads.”
Ted elbows her. “Don’t celebrate too soon, boss. We still got one more point to score.”
“Somebody wise once said that the little victories along the road to the big one are every bit as worth celebrating,” Rebecca says loftily.
“Who was that?”
“Me, just now.”
The puck drops. It’s pure chaos. Isaac’s team is in disarray, thoroughly thrown by their opponents’ bizarre strategy and unable to predict what they’ll do next. Colin’s team, on the other hand, is back to top form, their spirits raised. They move as a unit, seeming almost to read each others’ minds to be exactly where they need to be. Colin’s never been much of a leader on the pitch, more the type to hang back and blend in and provide support where it’s needed. But he’s confident here, shouting out strategies and coordinating plays, and Ted keeps quiet and does as he’s told, brimming with pride.
They pull it off six seconds before Higgins’ timer goes off, Ted passing to Moe who passes to Jamie who passes to Rebecca with a shout of “End it!”, and the puck whizzes straight between Thierry’s legs and into the goal.
As cheers go up from all sides, everyone celebrating their hard-fought victory, delicate little snowflakes start to drift down. Ted tilts his head back and closes his eyes, feeling them melt on his cheeks and land in his lashes and mustache, and realizes he doesn’t know the last time he felt this happy.
By the time the game is over, it’s nearing ten, meaning the rink is closing. Everyone filters back into the chalet to return their skates and gather up their belongings before trooping back onto the bus.
The ride back is quiet, but it’s not the same bone-tired quiet that’s hung over many of their recent post-game bus rides like a gloomy cloud. It’s a sleepy, contented quiet, a feeling like being called back in for dinner after playing outside with the neighbor boys for hours as a kid. Beard plays a Sleepytime album. Jan stretches out and puts his feet in Richard’s lap, and Richard only swears at him a little bit. Rebecca and Keeley doze off leaning on each other. Roy and Jamie do too. (Will takes sneaky pictures but values his life enough not to share them.)
When they finally make it back to Nelson Road, Ted is one of the last to disembark the bus. He’s stopped by a hand on his elbow, and when he turns, a folded-up piece of notebook paper is being held out to him. “Oh,” he says, surprised. Then he remembers. “Oh! Is this…?”
“Yes.” Trent isn’t quite meeting his eyes. “Don’t read it here,” he adds hastily, when Ted starts to unfold it.
“Right, right.”
He’s torn it out of his notebook. Ted hasn’t forgotten the scalding response he received the one time he was foolish enough to ask if he could spare a piece of scrap paper, so the meaning isn’t lost on him. He opens his mouth to say something, but Trent is already standing, brushing past him. “Have a good night, Ted.”
“Yeah, you too, Trent.”
Ted tucks the paper carefully into his pocket for now. Later, in the quiet of his own apartment, he’ll unfold it and read the angular print, read the note at the bottom that says, “Thanks for proving me wrong. -TC”, and he’ll smile and his chest will hurt, but in the good way. He’ll put it up on his fridge, right between Henry’s school picture and the birthday card from the team, and every time he looks at it, he’ll remember that feeling.