305 Ice Romane & Geschichten

He pulled me up patient, no rush. We went slow. He showed basic moves, gliding backward, turning easy. I copied and fell again. And again. My legs ached deep after a few minutes, muscles screaming like they were on fire. Thighs burning, ankles sore from twisting. Sweat dripped down my face even though it was freezing. Frustration built up hot in my chest. Why was this so freaking hard? And why did Roland make it look so simple? “You’re doing okay,” he said, voice calm. “Most newbies eat ice a lot.”

And then he was there, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes and count the number of buttons on his shirt—three, all undone, revealing just enough chest to suggest that the gym membership was being put to good use. "Thought I owed you a drink," he said, offering a glass with a lime slice perched perfectly on the rim like a tiny green flag of surrender. "Thanks." I accepted the drink, grateful for something to do with my hands, and took a tentative sip. Not too strong—vodka soda, clean and safe, the kind of drink that wouldn't impair my judgment too quickly.

Ranging from pizza, spaghetti with little chunks of hotdogs cut up in it, Chinese , rice and finally meat stew. He looks at me sheepishly while scratching the back of his neck and says " I wasn't sure what you would like" he pauses " Choose your favourite". Again, a choice ! I'm really starting to like this guy. "Told ya! How could you not? He is our mate after all." Snow squeals and I ignore her. I choose pizza and after we warm it I arrange them back in the box and make my way towards the "backyard", While Jason follows closely behind me with a wine bottle and two glasses.

The fabric was cold against my skin, grounding. “Don’t break anything,” he called after me. “No promises.” ————- The rink was empty. Just how I liked it. Cold air hit my lungs the second I stepped in, sharp and clean, cutting through everything still buzzing under my skin. The lights reflected off the ice. Perfect. I didn’t bother with much, just laced up, stepped on, and pushed off. Roughly I moved through the ice, gripping madly on my hockey stick. Him.

“The will's been public for two hours.” “I move efficiently,” I say. “There's a difference.” “Is there?” I sit. I don't order anything, which I can see unsettles her slightly — good, I want her paying attention to the details, because the details are where I'm most convincing. “I'll be direct, since I imagine you've had enough people today dancing around what they actually want. My company has spent ten years trying to break into freight lanes your grandfather locked down before either of us could vote. You have thirty days to marry someone or lose everything you were just handed. I'm proposing we solve both problems at once.”

"He's right. It's off." "Wow. Thanks." "You're dropping your elbow on the follow-through. That's why it's sailing wide." I step onto the ice without really deciding to, grab a stick from the rack by the boards. "Here." I don't know what I'm doing. I have homework. I have a curfew, technically, though nobody enforces it for me. I have a girlfriend who isn't really my girlfriend and a father who measures my worth in goals and a whole life waiting for me that I'm supposed to want, and instead I'm standing on the ice at ten at night showing a scholarship kid how to fix his wrist shot because some part of me wanted an excuse to be near him and didn't want to admit it.

It smells too much like her and the future I’m not supposed to want. I end up at The Ice House—the dive bar near the university where the hockey guys and pack kids hang out. It’s a Friday night crowd, and usually, people give me a ten-foot radius because I look like I’m looking for a reason to kill someone. I slide into a corner booth, hood up, back to the wall. I order a whiskey, neat, and watch the room. Until I hear the name. Aiden. Two pack guys at the next table are leaning in, their voices low, but wolf ears catch every syllable.

He’s watching me, and the hallway tightens around that fact. It occurs to me now that we've spent ten years on the ice, and we’ve never once been alone like this. There have always been buffers – crowds, team members, noise, motion. Now there’s nothing between us but heat and whatever this pressure is that's started to coil dark and strong in my gut. His eyes move over me slowly. Not scanning, not judging. Taking me apart.