Page 24 of 50 First Skates

It’s important to have a sense of humor about this kind of thing.

12

DEAN

April 23rd

I’ve given Soleil Barrett twenty-six skating lessons, and I remember every single grin on her face, every time she’s realized she can do a hockey stop. In both directions. Her progress on the ice has surpassed my expectations. Her forward skating is automatic now, not just functional. It’s pretty. That’s something I noticed around lesson ten and haven’t stopped noticing. There’s something in the way she moves on the ice. Some people just take to it, and she’s one of those people. She has grace. She can skate backward while having a conversation. She doesn’t have to think about it anymore.

On top of all that, her glutes and quads have gotten so toned. We stretch together before and after the lessons now. I pick her up at her house. Every morning, she still needs to be reminded who I am and that she’s been learning to skate before I get there, but she doesn’t need constant instruction on the ice anymore. Most of the time it feels like we’re skating together. I still coach her and make corrections, but there will be stretches where we’re on the ice and we’re just moving and it doesn’t feel likework for either of us. Jessie’s emailed me a lot of footage, and one day I’ll have a feature-length documentary to remind her of everything she’s accomplished.

But I haven’t stopped believing that one day her cognitive memory’s going to catch up with her muscle memory. That she’ll wake up one morning after a good night’s sleep and remember me. More importantly,Istill wake up every morning excited to see her. The plan is for me to spend the night at her place tonight, for the first time. We’ll be getting home late.

Because we’re out here watching the Lyrid meteor shower.

Soleil had suggested we drive out somewhere private so we could make out in the back of my truck, but I just happened to find out about this annual meteor shower that peaks right around now. The earth is passing through debris left by a comet. Is it blowing my fucking mind that I’m assistant coach for the Comets and I’m in the back of a truck with my head coach’s daughter watching the debris from a comet as a poetic excuse to get into her pants? It is. Soleil blows my mind every day, but tonight is out of this world.

We can see about ten to twenty meteors per hour. The skies are clear, and she just happened to know of this perfect spot for us to park, in the middle of nowhere. The drive up here was awe-inspiring, but this spot she’s brought me to takes my breath away. The highway follows the lake for miles east of Kenton. It’s quiet, dark, with almost no traffic at night. We’ve got the lake on one side and mountains on the other. She directed me to pull off the road at some point, and the sky is genuinely dark enough for real stargazing. Light pollution in this area is minimal. I can see more stars right now than I’ve probably ever seen in my life. It’s a specific kind of beautiful that I have no reference point for. No words.

I’ve seen the prairies at night. Expansive skies, a lot of stars, but it’s flat and exposed. This combination of the dark water, themountains, the stars reflecting on the lake—it’s overwhelming in a good way. Like falling in love with Soleil. The mountains are dark shapes all around us, the stars are between the mountain peaks, the lake is below. It’s enclosed and infinite at the same time. Also like falling in love with Soleil. It feels like I’m a part of the landscape and the cosmos. I truly don’t have words for it, and I don’t try to find them. She doesn’t force me too either.

It’s after midnight, and it’s cold. I put flannel sheets over the inflatable double mattress and brought a comforter, an unzipped sleeping bag, and a throw blanket. We’re both wearing coats and Henleys, but the pants are coming off at some point. We’ve been lying side by side, on our backs, heads on pillows, my arm around her shoulder, for around half an hour. My arm is tingling and about to fall asleep, but I feel wide awake.

She gasps, like she has every time she’s seen a meteor or a shooting star as she calls them, ever since our eyes adjusted. “Ooh! Did you see that one?!”

“I did.”

“That one is what’s known as a photobomber.”

“Ahh, yes. The one that streaked through that constellation that looks like tangled earbuds.”

“It’s actually called the Disappointed Goose. See the long neck?”

“Right. He’s frowning.”

She points to the sky and says, “See that cluster with one star off to the right, alone? That’s called the Unanswered Text.”

“That’s poignant.” God, I love her. I love her so fucking much. I spot another meteor, and we both twitch and gasp and then laugh at ourselves.

After a quiet moment—and I mean the deep silence of a clear night in the wilderness—she says, “I want to hear the rest of your interview.”

“Not now, though, right?”

I finally did an interview onTheNet Zeroespodcast, and we listened to half of it while we drove up here. At a certain point, I had to turn those assholes off because it was ruining my enjoyment of the beautiful scenery. They’re funny, but they gave me so much shit about not taking the Comets to the playoffs and dating Coach’s daughter. It’s not something I’m ready to joke about yet. The loss or Soleil. They also asked about my long-term plans as a coach. That’s when I turned it off.

“So, whatareyour plans?” she asks.

“To make you come with my mouth and fingers before I fuck you under the stars.”

“Hah. Good luck with that. I’m going to make you come in my mouth before you get it up again to fuck me under the stars.”

“Bold. And also fine with me.”

She reaches inside my sweatpants, under my boxer briefs, and starts stroking my shaft. Long, slow strokes. Delicate and devious. Soher. “But tell me. Career-wise. What’s the plan? You take over as head coach for the Comets?”

I do not like talking about her father while her hand is on my cock, but here goes. “After your dad retires, yeah.”

“Then what? There’s no way you thought of the junior hockey team in Kenton as anything more than a stepping stone.”