The Inside Edge: Chapter Two

Pulling into her parking spot twenty minutes later, Brianne let out a soft, tired sigh. Turning to grab the skates from where they rested on the passenger seat, she suddenly stilled, her eyes sparkling a little as a laugh bubbled up her throat.

            She’d almost learned how to stop.

            “Screw it,” she decided, moving her hand away. The ice-skates remained unmoved on the seat as she slowly pulled her aching, protesting legs out from inside the car. Groaning, she rubbed her back. “I must be crazy to even consider it,” she mumbled, lumbering toward the small cottage-looking apartment complex. “My back is killing me and I’m terrified that one of these times I’m going to run smack into the boards.”

            But all the same, a swell of anticipation lay just beyond the words. She’d told the boys she’d be there next Sunday.

            “And really,” she muttered, gaining the slightly unnerved eye of her neighbor, who’d stepped outside to grab her mail. Half-turning, the woman watched Brianne’s slow progression, her mouth thinning as she observed the younger woman’s lively, if one-sided, conversation.

            “…it’s not as if you have anything else to do. Plus, think of the exercise,” she said chuckling as she dug inside her purse for her key. One of the reasons Brianne had picked this particular apartment complex—aside from its darling brick-and-stucco exterior and the sweet, homey appeal of the large rectangular garden at the front entrance—was the private, secured entrance for each individual tenant.

            Inserting her key in the lock, still blissfully unaware of her spying neighbor, Brianne let herself into the small, thin hallway of her front door. With a flick of her hand, she turned on the overhead lights and was just kicking off her shoes when she heard the muffled sound of her phone ringing.

            Fishing it quickly out of her shoulder-bag, Brianne spared the time for a momentary grimace when she saw who was calling. Still, swiping her hand across the screen, she brought the phone up to her ear with her feelings well-concealed.

            “Hey, Mom,” she answered.

            “Brianne! There you are?”

            Brianne rolled her eyes—but affectionately. “Retire the Search and Rescue Team, huh?”
            “Oh, hush.” Molly Kelling laughed. “I only meant…”

            “I know what you meant. We had a deal.” Brianne had the grace to sound contrite. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just—”

            “Forty-eight hours, Brianne.”

            Fighting back a rise of irritation, Brianne swallowed. She was thirty-three years old for Christ’s sake. She was long past the age of curfews, chaperones, and parental control.  “I’ve been busy.”

            “Really?” The dry tone of her mother’s voice was hard to ignore.

            “Mom—”

            “How’s, how’s the new job?”

            Brianne’s eyes narrowed. While the effort to change the subject was appreciated, she wasn’t sure she trusted that note in her mother’s voice.

            “It’s fine.”

            “Only fine?”

            Brianne felt her eyebrows tug together. Wandering into her living room, her eyes glided over the bare walls, the lack of furniture. A small leather chair, a slapdash stack of books, and an empty pint glass, resting on the floor, stared back at her from an otherwise empty room. Disregarding the sight, Brianne marched to the small row of windows on the East wall. With a flick of her fingers, she parted the lacy curtains that had come with the place.

            “What’s with the third-degree, Mom?”
            “No, I just wanted to—”

            “You know I didn’t move here for my job.”

            A harsh sigh filled the other end of the line. “Well, but then, I’ve never really understood why you moved, have I?”

            Brianne closed her eyes. She’d been right to suspect the line of questioning. With a sigh, she dropped the curtains back in place. “No,” she admitted softly, “I don’t suppose you have.”

            “Do you like it there?”

            Brianne shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

            “You moved thousands of miles away and you don’t know yet?”

            Unbidden, Brianne thought of those young kids at the hockey arena. She smiled at the memory of their offer of protection and their very vocal invitation to teach her how to properly skate. A giddiness of appreciation swelled at the memory.

            “No, I don’t know,” Brianne said, hearing her voice as though coming out of a fog. “But—I think, I think maybe this place, I think that maybe it likes me.”

            Brianne was late to the hockey rink that Sunday. Her cheeks were flushed, her short, hair clinging statically to her cheeks as she hustled to tie up her skates. Plopping the knitted hat over her ears, she canvassed the arena. Her eyes narrowed as she looked for Leather Jacket but with a sigh, she realized he wasn’t among the figures flying by…

            “She’s here!”

            The words, scorching the cold air, were shouted over the left shoulder of a nearby skater. “Guys. She’s here.” With a nod, the speaker then jerked his head in Brianne’s direction.

            It was Charlie. Smiling in greeting, Brianne tromped slowly toward the open doors at the far end of the arena.

            He beat her there, waving eagerly as she advanced across the rubbing mating surrounding the rink. “You made it!”

            Smiling gently, Brianne nodded. “I did.”

            Charlie leaned against the boards. “Yeah, we didn’t think you’d actually show.”

            Carefully, Brianne stepped out onto the ice, her hands steadying against the plexiglass covering the top-half of the sporting wall. With a dry glance, she felt her lips tugging upward. “Yeah. I sort of got that impression just now.”

            “Hey Ms. Kelling!”

            “You came!”

            “It’s a little too busy to practice stopping…”

            At the words, a jumble of voice falling and rising over one another, a group of ten or so teenage boys advanced upon Brianne and Charlie. Down to the individual, they smiled largely up at her.

            Taking great comfort in their obvious reaction to her company, Brianne felt her own lips tugging ever-wider. “Hey guys!”

            “Yeah, Cory’s right.” This came from George, who was now checking out the half-full rink behind them. “It’s too packed to work on your stop.”

            “That’s okay,” Brianne rushed to assure the group, only too giddy at the easy escape. She had enough bruises left over from last time. She only hoped the rink never emptied out! “I’m happy to just skate, too.”

            At the words, the party started. As if on cue, the group pushed off the boards. Tucked cozily in the center, Brianne tried not to notice the critical expressions playing out on the kid’s faces as she swayed a bit crookedly.

            “Well…” George said slowly, elongating the word. “I mean, there are other things we could work on until the arena clears.”

            “Yeah?” Brianne swallowed nervously, her skates taking the corner inexpertly. “Like what?”

            “Well—” The boys shared side-long glances.

            “Your posture could use some work.”

            Brianne’s eyes rounded. “My what?”

            “You kind of…you know, like hunch your shoulders?”

            “Yeah—and you sort of swing your arms around like propellers.”

            That comment sent the boys into a round of polite, hand-over-the-mouth, snickers.

            “I do not!”

            “It’s okay, Ms. Kelling,” Cory said, edging up beside her. He lowered his voice a little. “It’s normal. For beginnings.”

            With a sigh, Brianne forced herself not to blush. After all, the boys were only trying to help. If she walked away a bit embarrassed, so be it. And really—Corry was basically right. After years of retirement, she was back to being a rank beginner. She just hadn’t realized she was so…well, obvious about it. Fighting a smile, Brianne took a moment to gaze around at the anxious faces crowding her in.

            She pursed her lips as a newfound bubble of amusement hit her. “Anything else?”

            “We could work on your ankles.”

            “My what?”
            “You skate inwards.”

            “Puts a strain on the joints.”

            “Makes it easy to lose your balance.”

            “Oh boy,” Brianne murmured, a mock frown marring her clear complexion. She winked at George. “I fear I’ve got a lot to learn.”

            “Never fear, Ms. Kelling.” The voice, coming from the back of the group, belonged to Charlie. “We got this. Right boys?”

            In unison, Brianne heard their victorious shout: “Right!”

            As they surged forward, Brianne spared a moment to wonder just how sore she’d be by the end of open skate. On second thoughts, perhaps she’d rather have tried stopping again…