Chapter Six: Echoes on the Ice

Late afternoon light slanted through the high windows of the arena, turning the ice into a shimmering sheet of gold and white. Elias Noir pushed through the final elements of his short program, the music still echoing faintly in his head even though the speakers had gone silent. His blades carved precise edges as he built speed for the triple axel. The takeoff was clean, the rotation tight in the air, he landed with only the slightest wobble, arms extended in a graceful finish. Not perfect, but close. With Nationals Qualifying Series just two weeks away, close wasn’t enough.

He glided to a stop near the boards, chest rising and falling steadily, a light sheen of sweat cooling on his skin. Elara skated up beside him, her own practice wrap-up complete. She bumped his shoulder playfully. “Looking sharp, superstar. Go get your stuff and wash up. I’ll be right back—I need to grab something from Coach’s office.”

Elias huffed dramatically, throwing his head back in mock exhaustion. “Slave driver. Fine, but don’t take forever, potato.”

Elara grinned and slid off the ice before he could protest further, disappearing through the practice door with her usual energetic bounce.

Elias lingered for a moment longer, letting his muscles cool down with a few easy crossovers. The shared rink had grown more chaotic as the day wore on. Hockey players dominated the far end with noisy drills and shouted commands, their sticks cracking against pucks like gunfire. The figure skaters had claimed the center earlier, but the overlap made everything feel tighter, more electric with unspoken tension.

“Elias!” Coach’s voice cut across the ice.

He turned and skated over to the boards where his coach stood with a clipboard, expression focused but encouraging. “Your triple axel is solid, good height, clean entry. But we need to adjust it. You have to fly higher. Skaters from other regions are coming in hot for these qualifiers. If we can lock in a top-three finish, we qualify for Nationals proper. No room for safe landings. Push the limits.”

Elias nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his glove. “Alright, Coach. I’ll drill it more tomorrow. I’ll let Elara know too, she’s been killing her spins.”

“Good. Keep that fire. Now go clean up. We’ll review footage in the morning.”

Elias gave a quick salute and headed off the ice, the chill of the arena air biting at his damp skin as he stepped onto the rubber mats. His legs felt pleasantly heavy from the intense session. He made his way to the shared locker room to grab his street clothes and towel, already mentally planning a quiet evening at home—maybe some light stretching and reviewing his program notes with his dads.

The men’s washroom area was already occupied when he pushed open the door. Several hockey players had taken over the space, their bulky frames filling the tiled room with loud laughter and the scent of sweat and cheap body spray. They were in various stages of undress, towels slung low, gear bags scattered across benches. The moment Elias stepped in, the energy shifted.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little princess,” one of them drawled, a burly defenseman with a crooked grin. “Come to twirl in the showers again?”

Another player chuckled, leaning against a locker. “Careful, boys. Don’t want to scare him off his pretty routine. Wouldn’t want those sparkly tights getting dirty.”

The teasing carried the familiar bite of Jax’s usual homophobic talk, crude comments about “fairy spins,” “bending over for judges,” and suggestions that figure skaters spent more time checking each other out than practicing. Elias kept his expression neutral, refusing to rise to it. He’d heard worse. He cared less today, especially since Jax himself wasn’t among them. That was a small mercy. Without the tall forward’s intense stare burning into him, the jabs felt emptier, easier to ignore.

He moved quickly, stripping off his damp practice gear and stepping under a free showerhead. The hot water cascaded over him, soothing sore shoulders and washing away the day’s exertion. He kept his back to the room, lathering up efficiently, rinsing in record time. The hockey players continued their banter, but it lacked real heat without their ringleader present. Elias toweled off, changed into comfortable sweats and a hoodie, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He was out of the washroom in under ten minutes, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud.

His phone buzzed in his hand as he walked down the hallway, eyes glued to the screen while texting Elara: Done washing up. Where are you? Don’t make me wait forever, potato.

He didn’t see the solid wall of muscle in front of him until it was too late.

Elias’s forehead connected with something hard, very hard. “Ouch!” He winced, holding his head as he stumbled back a step. When he looked up, he met a pair of cold, mean eyes framed by dark brows and a clenched jaw.

Jax Thorne stood there, towering at 6’3, freshly showered himself with damp hair and a clean team hoodie stretched across his broad chest. His expression was pure irritation, lips curled in that signature smirk that never reached his eyes.

“Watch where you’re going, princess,” Jax said flatly, voice low and edged with disdain. He didn’t wait for a response, shouldering past Elias with deliberate force and continuing down the hallway toward the exit.

Elias rubbed his forehead, glaring at the retreating back. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough to carry.

He stood there for a moment, watching Jax disappear around the corner. Something about those eyes tugged at him again, the intensity, the familiar sharpness. Where have I seen that eyes before? The question looped in his mind, unbidden and frustrating. It wasn’t just the locker room taunts or today’s near-collision. It felt deeper, like a half-remembered dream that slipped away whenever he tried to grasp it. The club night? No… that stranger had been a blur of heat and shadows. Still, the pull was there, annoying and persistent.

Shaking it off, Elias continued walking, texting Elara again to meet him at the side entrance. He pushed through the heavy doors into the late afternoon sun, the parking lot buzzing with players and staff heading out.

Elara was already waiting near his car, leaning against the hood with her arms crossed and a mischievous grin. “Finally! I thought you’d drowned in there with all those hockey gorillas.”

“Almost,” Elias replied, unlocking the car. “They took over the showers again. Same old crap, but at least their king wasn’t around to lead the chorus. Just bumped into him in the hall, though. Literal head-on collision.”

Elara laughed as they slid into the car. “Of course you did. That guy has it out for you. Want me to key his car on the way out?”

“Tempting, but no. Let’s just get out of here.”

They were halfway out of the parking lot when a friendly voice called out, stopping them. A young man in his early twenties, slim, with stylishly messy hair and a bright rainbow pin on his jacket, jogged up to the driver’s side window. Elias recognized him vaguely as one of the arena’s part-time staff, someone who helped with event setup.

“Hey, Elias! Elara! Wait up a second.”

Elias rolled down the window, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”

The guy smiled, a little out of breath. “Sorry to catch you guys leaving, but there’s this party tomorrow night, totally low-key but fun. It’s at the old warehouse downtown, the one they converted for events. Gay party, mostly queer crowd from the sports scene and some arts folks. Good music, no drama, lots of dancing. You two should come. Figure skaters are always welcome, brings some elegance to the chaos.”

Elara perked up immediately, leaning across the console. “A gay party? Count me in. Elias?”

Elias hesitated for half a second, the memory of his recent blurry club night flashing through his mind. But the idea of blowing off steam with familiar faces, and away from the rink’s tension, sounded appealing. “Yeah… why not? Sounds fun. Text me the details?”

“Will do!” The guy tapped the roof of the car cheerfully. “See you there. Bring your best moves.”

As they drove off, Elara was already vibrating with excitement. “This is perfect. We deserve a night out after all the extra drama with the hockey invasion. Dancing, no homophobic meatheads breathing down our necks—”

“Unless one shows up,” Elias muttered, half-joking.

Elara waved a hand dismissively. “Then we ignore them. Or I’ll choreograph a spin that knocks them flat. Come on, it’ll be good for you. Clear your head before qualifiers.”

Elias smiled faintly, focusing on the road as they left the estate gates behind. The party invitation lingered in his thoughts, mixing with the strange pull he felt toward Jax’s eyes. He pushed it down. Tomorrow was for fun. The rink, and whatever unfinished business waited there, could wait another day.

Across town, Jax sat in his SUV in the parking lot, engine idling as he watched Elias’s car pull away. He had overheard the invitation from a distance, the word “gay party” hitting him like a slapshot to the chest. His father’s threats from breakfast still burned, dinner with the Jeremy family, talks of engagement, the constant pressure to “straighten up.”

He gripped the wheel tighter, jaw locked.

He wouldn’t go.

He couldn’t.

But the image of Elias dancing, loose, confident, beautiful, refused to leave his head.

The ice was cracking faster now.

And Jax wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend it was solid beneath his feet.