Page 83 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

I know that look of being on the cusp. I continue walking in his direction.

I’m not hiding in a hoodie today, not even a hat, just my regular puffer jacket, cute jeans, and my favorite pair of Balenciaga ankle boots.

My shoulder brushes his as I walk past him, soaking in the last bit of contact we’ll ever have.

“My bad,” he mutters, when he realizes we’ve bumped into each other, but his focus is on his phone as he continues on, his fingers flying over his screen as he texts.

I pause, but my phone dings.

I see Lucien from the corner of my eye, whirling around, but I’m already walking away. With every forced step, I keep moving forward, leaving him behind.

It’s only when I make it to the rink that I take the risk to look at the message on my phone.

@thereallucifer

If you’re hiding, I’ll find you. Prepare yourself, Little Stalker. I love this game.

I’m panting, sweat coating every inch of my skin as I fight for breath.

I’ve skated harder today than usual, and my heart is pounding.

But it’s not enough. Racing across the ice, I go again, speeding through my cues, flying through my moves.

It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, and I’m too late in some areas while too early on others.

Not good enough.

I go again.

Sloppy.

I fall.

You’ll never be enough. You’ll never win like that.

I fall again, screaming in frustration when my ass hits the ice.

You’ll never make it to the fucking Olympics.

I squeeze my head, trying to block out the noise, but it keeps coming.

Last chance. You’re going to lose everything. It’s not worth it. You need to be lighter. You need to be faster. You need to be stronger. You don’t belong here. This is a waste of your time. It’s too late.

Every negative thought has a different voice. It trades off between my dad, Tiffany, my coach, my trainers, Regina, and even my own voice.

“Sydney? Sydney, are you okay?” a soft voice that differs from all the others calls out my name.

“Sydney, look at me. Breathe.” I blink up to see Hannah staring down at me, her auburn hair strewn atop her head in a messy bun, several tendrils have fallen and are blown across her face like she ran here.

“What are you doing?” I ask, realizing she’s helping me off of the ice slab.

She braces a hand under my forearm, gently lifting me before she softly glides over to the exit, holding my hand.

“What happened? She fall again?” Regina scoffs from the bench.

I glare at her as we step off the ice.

“Now, now, no need for us to be nasty,” Tiffany chimes from next to Regina.

“Sydney can’t help it if she’s clumsy. It’s an unfortunate circumstance for someone who made it all the way to qualifiers when she was in her prime.

Sadly, that time has passed, but we should still show her some sympathy.

It’s gotta suck being a has-been still struggling to get back on top. ”

“That’s enough, you guys,” says Hannah. “We all fall sometimes. It’s normal to—” She throws up right next to their feet.

“Eww! What the fuck? Watch it, Hannah,” gripes Regina.

Hannah gags again before running to the bathroom, and it’s a miracle I’m not struck by lightning with the hope that soars in my chest. If she’s sick again, I can compete at Nationals. I’ll have my shot.

“Ugh, disgusting,” Regina comments.

“Well, look at that,” Tiffany snaps with a smirk. “Seems you might get your second chance after all.” She turns to walk away with Regina.

I was taught not to leave anything to chance, so why settle for a possibility when I can have a guarantee ?

Tiffany has caused me enough problems. I’m sick of it.

If she goes away, all my problems go with her.

Without Tiffany in my way I can go to Nationals.

I’ll win and I’ll never have to hear her disdain- filled commentary again.

I relish the thought even as I finish showering and get dressed to leave.

An idea forms, taking root as I brace myself against the wall at the top of the arena steps.

A certain peace settles over me when I hear her condescending voice echoing in the stairwell as she talks animatedly on the phone.

I peek over the side of the top landing to make sure she’s alone, that she’s not with Regina.

The echoes of her footsteps grow louder, and my insides start to crackle. I’m on the verge of shattering.

But you’re a good person.

I hear her footfalls slow to nothing.

Spinning around, I turn the corner with my hands out, bracing as our bodies collide.

The collision is too fast and hard to stop.

Her shriek echoes, burning when it hits my ears, and I hear a mind-numbing crack that makes me flinch.

My heart beats a mile a minute but then stops, along with time and space itself when I hear a harsh smack against the concrete floors.

Blood stains the blue and white steps of our alma mater and the building tilts as I sway.

I whip my hand out to grip the railing, white knuckling the bar so hard I almost slip and fall with her. Bile doesn’t just rise, it spews over the side as I fail to contain my reaction to the scene below me.

Twelve steps below, where I expect to see Tiffany in a halo of blond hair and blood, I see auburn hair and chocolate eyes. Tiffany is nowhere in sight.

My shaking hand rises to my mouth, holding in the scream that threatens to tear with me.

You’re not a good person.

I fumble to pull out my phone.

“Hello? 9-1-1?” I sob.

You’re a terrible person.

“Please. Send help.” My voice shakes as badly as my hands.

Fucking monster.

“There’s been an . . . accident,” I breathe.