Closed Quarters

The faint glow of the emergency lights still cast eerie shadows across the Stonebridge ice rink, sharpening the angles of Knox Callahan’s face as he stood mere feet from Skye Emerson. The dim illumination clung to the curve of his jaw, highlighting the tense set of his mouth. Skye swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest, not from fear, she told herself, but from the unsettling closeness of him in the near-darkness. The air was filled with the chill of the rink.

Then he spoke.

“Probably just a breaker,” Knox muttered, his voice low, his breath doing some strange things to her body as his voice cut through the silence. But then, he stepped past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved toward the maintenance door at the far end of the rink. The brief contact sent a jolt through her, and she instinctively tightened her grip on her sketchpad, still tucked under her arm. She hesitated, then pulled out her phone, flicking on the flashlight to walk through the murky darkness. The beam of light trembled slightly in her hand as she followed him, her sneakers squeaking against the rubberized floor.

Shortly, a loud clang echoed from deeper within the rink’s underbelly, making Skye’s breath hitch in fear. Knox paused, his posture stiffening, and glanced back at her. “Stay behind me,” he said, his tone firm, almost protective, as he took the lead into the narrow utility hallway. The walls were lined with exposed pipes, the air damp and heavy with the smell of mildew and metal. Skye’s flashlight beam shone across the concrete floor, catching the glint of a rusted pipe as they moved deeper into the corridor.

They turned a corner where the sound of their footsteps mingled with the distant hum of the rink’s systems struggling to restart. Skye’s pulse raced, her senses heightened by the darkness and the uncertainty of what may happen. But when they reached the source of the noise, there was nothing, just an overturned mop bucket, its handle clattering against the floor in the faint draft. Knox let out a low chuckle as he noticed Skye holding onto his arm in fear. “Afraid?” he asked, his eyes glinting as he turned to face her.

Skye rolled her eyes, forcing a scoff to cover the fear creeping up. It was only then she realized her hand was gripping the sleeve of his jacket, her fingers curled tightly it. She dropped her hand quickly, stepping back. “Hardly,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the conviction she’d hoped for.

Knox’s smirk widened, but he didn’t press the issue. He gestured toward a small utility room just off the hallway, its door propped open. “Might as well wait here until the lights come back on,” he said, stepping inside. The room was cramped, barely large enough for a narrow bench and a cluttered shelf of cleaning supplies. Skye hesitated, then followed, her flashlight casting long shadows as she sat on the bench, leaving a careful two feet of space between them.

The silence that settled over them was heavy, not quite uncomfortable but filled with an unspoken tension. Skye shifted, her sketchpad resting on her lap, her fingers tracing its frayed edges nervously. Knox leaned back against the wall, one leg stretched out, his helmet resting on the bench beside him. The dim light from her phone illuminated the space just enough to catch the way his gaze flicked toward her, then away, as if he were trying to figure her out.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now. “This fundraiser. You really think your art auction thing’s gonna work?”

Skye glanced at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. “It’s better than your fireworks idea,” she said, his lips twitching into a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “People like supporting local stuff. And it’s cheaper.” She added.

He snorted. “Fair. But you’re gonna have to sell it hard. Stonebridge doesn’t exactly scream ‘art scene.’”

She shrugged, her fingers tapping against her sketchpad. “I can handle it. I’ve been drawing forever. It’s… kind of my thing.”

Knox tilted his head, studying her with a curiosity that felt almost disarming. “Yeah? Are you any good?”

She hesitated, then flipped open her sketchpad, angling it so he could see a pencil sketch of a windswept tree, its branches twisting against a stormy sky. “You tell me,” she said.

He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he studied the drawing. For a moment, he was silent, his expression unreadable. “Horrible,” he said finally, and there was a grudging in his voice that caught her off guard.

“You do this a lot? Making people feel less of themselves?” She snapped.

“Whenever I can,” he admitted. “It’s how I don’t make sense of things.”

“Well, my drawing is perfect and I don’t care what you think.” She added.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long. “Hockey’s like that for me,” he said, almost to himself. “The hockey rink’s the only place that makes sense sometimes. No bullshit, just the game.”

Skye glanced at him, surprised by the admission. “Sounds exhausting,” she said before she could stop herself. “All that pressure, everyone watching you.”

For the first time, she felt comfortable around him.

“You get used to it. Or you don’t, and you’re done.”

The silence returned, softer this time, as if they’d stumbled into a conversation neither had planned. Skye found herself studying the contour of his face, the way his hands rested loosely on his knees, the faint crease between his brows. His eyes then flicked to her, and for a split second, they focused on her lips. Her breath caught, her pulse spiking as the air between them seemed to thicken.

Knox, leaning closer, slowly enough that Skye could pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. His hand brushed her arm, a tentative touch that sent a shiver through her. Then, almost hesitantly, his lips met hers. The kiss was soft at first, exploratory and she did not push him away. Skye’s fingers, hesitant at first, curled into the fabric of his hoodie, her heart racing as the kiss deepened. His hand slid to her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek in a way that made the cramped utility room feel like the only place in the world.

Suddenly, the lights flickered back on with a harsh buzz, flooding the room with cold fluorescence. Skye pulled back. Knox leaned back too, a slight smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes held hers. “Guess we should get back to work,” he said.

Skye nodded, her mind reeling as she stood, clutching her sketchpad. They stepped out of the utility room, the rink coming into view as the overhead lights hummed back to life. But as they reached the edge of the ice, a girl stood waiting, her arms crossed and a cold frown spreading across her lips. She’s Laurel Dane, Stonebridge’s resident queen bee and Knox’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, leaned against the boards, her blonde hair catching the light. Her eyes flicked between Skye and Knox, a sharp cold glare promising trouble. And then her lips lit up a smile.