Page 13 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)
She doesn’t know what it’s like when the stakes are truly high. It’s one of the first few useful things Father taught me. When I have a goal, I commit to it. But before I can make it out of the building, my phone starts buzzing.
Group Chat
Bellemere Figure Skating team
Tiffany 9:13 PM
Don’t forget you guys we have a 4 o’clock practice tomorrow. I’ve locked up for the night, so I’m headed home. Tootles, see you guys tomorrow.
Regina 9:14 PM
Thanks for the reminder, bestie.
Bria 9:15 PM
We’ll be there.
Hannah 9:15 PM
I’ll be a little late. I have a dentist appointment.
Kieran 9:15 PM
Toats McGoats
Shane 9:16 PM
Ay Ay, Captain
I scoff. She’s not even Captain.
Sydney 9:16 PM
OMG really? That explains why I can’t get out then. You must have accidentally locked me in.
Tiffany 9:20 PM
Aw, no. I’m so sorry. You must have been in the locker room when I locked up. I had no idea you were still there. I’ve already left for the evening, but do you need me to turn around? I can come back and let you out, maybe give you a ride home if you need it?
I knew it.
Sydney 9:20 PM
No worries. I’ll just leave out the main entrance. No need to go out of your way or anything.
Tiffany 9:30 PM
Okay then, be safe. And, Sydney, have a good night.
Yup, she’s just petty. Amateur.
I’m almost at the entrance when the bright light shining out of one of the arena entrances catches my attention.
I’ve passed several and they’ve all been off, adding to the dark, ominous hallway vibe, but not this one.
This one suggests it was left on intentionally.
A flicker of hope shimmers that she might have grown a backbone and will address her concerns like a rational human being.
But when I remove a headphone and listen for noise, I’m met with the sound of scraping ice and . . . slapping?
The slap is so hard, I flinch. It sounds like a person was struck. Tiffany deserves to be slapped that hard, but I realize that it’s not the sound of a person being hit but an object. I hear it again, this time I’m sure it’s the sound of two objects clacking together.
My feet guide me closer toward the source where I see far below there’s someone playing hockey alone.
I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s doing.
There’s a dummy goal person set up in the net and various black disks positioned in numerous places around the ice.
It looks like he’s running drills, but there aren’t any coaches or teammates around.
I spin around to leave him to it, my body already halfway out the door before I see it.
That move. I turn back around, taking another step forward to see better.
The rink and the main floor entrance are illuminated, so I’m safer in this midsection where neither sources of light reach me.
I watch him again, waiting for him to repeat the movement.
It doesn’t happen right away, but after a minute or two, I see its flawless execution.
I plop onto the steps in disbelief that just happened.
He’s a hockey player for Christ’s sake, but I sit there and watch him do it again and again, perfect every time.
He’s not actually committing to the jump, but he’s definitely doing some sort of combination between a double loop jump and a pirouette.
The power in his spins could easily allow him to do the jump.
Instead, he propels forward, spinning around his imaginary opponent and sinks the shot past the dummy.
The more I watch him, the more I notice other little spins and mini jumps.
I notice the power, the speed. I marvel at the artistry and commitment to his craft.
Tears prick my eyes, a flood of emotion overtaking me. He’s not out there performing any crazy routines or dangerous jumps, but even he is better than me.
How can that be? I want it so badly. I work for it. I live for it. I breathe it. Why the fuck aren’t I that good? I made it all the way to qualifiers before, so why can’t I do it again? And why the fuck can’t I get my dad’s voice out of my head?
I grip the follicles of my hair, my head hunched over on my lap, ready to boil over and scream, but all I do is cry. Silent tears fall onto the cold concrete step below me. I’m still shrouded in darkness, and he still skates, unassuming of my presence.
I stay a while longer until he’s all done, despite the sounds of his skates cutting into the ice, lulling me to sleep. I didn’t track every goal, but I’m sure almost all of them went in, if the net full of pucks is to be believed.
He chews on his mouth guard as he maneuvers his makeshift course.
There’s an intensity in his eyes that appears dark and angry, but I can’t see the color, only the tension in his face.
It makes his features so sharp I can barely make out the full picture.
He doesn’t seem real from up here. I’m squinting to get a better look when my phone buzzes against the concrete floors.
I panic, reaching for it to see my dad’s face on the screen.
I missed check-in. I had no idea I stayed so long. It’s almost ten.
Jesus. I really am tired.
I look over my messages and see another one from Bradford.
Bradford 9:56 PM
You naked yet?
Ugh. I stand to sneak away, stealing one last look over my shoulder before heading out one of the darkened corridors.
LUCIEN
Lucien 8:17 AM
Hey, were you at the arena late last night?
Cap 8:17 AM
No. Was at family dinner with my parents, remember?
Lucien 8:17 AM
Oh yeah, I forgot about that. How’d it go?
Cap 8:18 AM
Same as always.
Lucien 8:18 AM
Fuck ‘em.
Cap 8:18 AM
You would say that about my FAMILY.
Lucien 8:18 AM
Sorry?
Cap 8:20 AM
No, you’re not, but it’s all good. Why’d you want to know if I was at the arena last night?
Lucien 8:20 AM
No reason. You wanna come over later?
Cap 8:25 AM
Not tonight. I’m in the library. Got a huge test I have to study for. Counts for like thirty percent of our grade and he made his office hours at an ungodly time so no one would think to ask him for help.
Lucien 8:25 AM
Sucks to be you.
Cap 8:25 AM
Fuck you.
Lucien 8:26 AM
Aww, don’t be like that. It’s not my fault someone wasn’t more careful with their class selections this year. I could have told you Professor Jones was an asshole. Mathieson is way better.
Cap 8:26 AM
*Middle finger emoji*
Lucien 8:26 AM
Careful. You know hostility is my love language.
Cap 8:26 AM
*Two middle finger emojis*
Lucien 8:27 AM
Well, now you’re just being a tease.
New Follower Request
@BladeSpinner
*Hits Accept*
“Hi, can I help you?” asks the girl behind the Bean Cup register. I notice just in time it’s my turn before the guy behind me has a fucking aneurysm for having to wait two seconds.
“Yeah, let me get uh . . .” I start.
The man huffs a breath of annoyance so hot it could melt the polar ice caps. Jesus, this guy needs to give me ten feet. His nervous energy is making me nervous, and I don’t do well when I’m nervous.
I try again. “I’ll get a, uh, chamomile tea with honey and a peppermint leaf. Actually wait, do you guys have those fresh-baked pistachio cranberry muffins, are those in season yet?”
“Aww, no, you’re a couple weeks too early. But we should have them in stock by the end of the month,” she offers, pointing a finger to where the shelves behind her stand lined with delicious baked goods and pre-packaged to-go orders.
“Damn. Okay, those things are fucking delicious.”
She smiles, her cheekbones pushing up her glasses.
“Yeah,” she says, shifting her weight. “They’re by far our most popular this time of year, but we still have the pumpkin creme Danishes with honey toasted almonds if you’re interested in that.”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “I kind of had my heart set on the muffins.”
“Are you guys going to discuss pastries all damn day, or can I order a coffee?” the man behind me fumes. My shoulders flinch, sharp annoyance pricking at my mind and the immediate desire to make him move claws at my insides.
The cashier girl stutters, embarrassment tinting her cheeks as she looks away from his hard stare. Poor thing looks to only be a freshman, probably using the money from this job to pay her way through, like most students. Bellemere might be secluded, but it’s not cheap.
“I-I um . . . will—” she attempts to calm the guy, but he doesn’t allow her to respond.
“Do you mind hurrying it up here?” he barks back at her.
“Do you mind not breathing down my fucking neck ?” I grit.
The guy scoffs as though I’ve offended him. As though I’m the one in the way of his breathing air. I haven’t had enough therapy to deal with this rationally and he’s pushing my goddamn buttons way too early in the morning.
“Look,” he spits. “Just order your fucking pastry so the rest of us can get to work.”
I peer past him at the long line of people dawdling on their phones before focusing my attention back on him. Majority of the people in line are other students because it’s a fucking college campus. In a college town. And we’re at peak start time for 9 A.M. classes.
I doubt he’s rushing me to get to work, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. Facing back to the cashier, I ignore him and ask the cute girl, “Is there any way to get that warmed?”
“Well, we could warm it up, but honestly, I think the creme filling would melt too much, so it’s probably better to—”
“Come on! Hurry it the fuck up,” the man grunts, as he fumbles with his watch.
She flinches, rearing back at his forceful tone. She somehow manages to compose herself in time.
“Sir, I’m going as fast as I can. Please wait your turn,” she asserts, pushing her glasses up and straightening her shoulders.
“Not fast e nough !” he barks.
Her shoulders slump again.