"It remembers," Jake said. "That's different from hurt, most days. Memory is a louder roommate than pain."
"Today?"
"Today it has opinions. Strong ones. Editorial page."
She rested her palm lightly above his skate cuff, not probing, just present, a warmth that said I am here without demanding a performance of toughness.
"You don't have to be the guy who never sits down."
"Who am I if I'm not?"
"A man who kept a kid in cocoa and glitter on Christmas Eve," she said. "And who told the truth about going backward. That's not nothing. That's actually a lot. Most people skate in circles and call it a personality."
Jake looked at her winged liner, her rosy blush, the gold clip catching mirror-ball light like a tiny private star, and felt something in him turn to face a direction he had been avoiding with professional skill.