Page 52 of The Forbidden Center

The rink is empty except for us and Eddie finishing a bucket near the far circle.

The first edge I set sends sound all the way into the lower bowl. Empty buildings answer back. On game night the crowd swallows half of what happens at ice level. In here I can hear my own blade cut and the puck settle against my tape, and for one lap I’m not a shoulder with a man attached to it.

I take the lap hard enough to feel the cold in my lungs, collect a puck off the wall, and send it through the narrow gap beside the gate. It hits the boards behind Astrid and comes back where I want it.

She watches the puck return to my blade.

“Showing off?”

“Demonstrating baseline excellence.”

“Number three.”

“That was for me.”

Maren laughs.

Astrid stays by the gate in dark trousers and shoes that have no business this close to ice.

“You skate?”

“Badly.”

“We can work with badly.”

“You can. I am keeping the shoes.”

“I had you down as competitive.”

“I am. That is why I choose the event.”

“What’s your event?”

“Dancing.”

My lace is already tied. I look down at it anyway.

Crowded floor. Her hand in mine. Astrid deciding I’m leading incorrectly and correcting me without apologizing for it.

That picture arrives fast enough to be a problem.

“Draw,” she says.

“Cold woman.”

“Center.”

I skate to the dot.

Maren takes the puck. Astrid moves closer to the gate until her toes nearly touch the threshold.

“What are you watching?”

“Everything he does not think he is showing me.”

“Useful answer.”

“You want the long version?”