Novel & Cerita Ice Play

While still hoping that luck shined on me, My hand hovered until I spotted it: *The Fundamentals of Ice Hockey. I pulled it out, it looked neat and I wondered if it was because of the climate here or because my father treated his books as valued possession that it looked clean. My father spent almost all his time here reading, he was a book worm.

I could, but every fucking time I thawed like ice. I should’ve just gone to practice, followed the back door, and sneaked away. Because right now, with his eyes on me, I could barely even glide. A sudden dash snapped me from my thoughts, and I straightened up just to see him gliding slowly around me, puck in hand. "Let’s play a game," he announced, cutting to a sharp, smooth stop right in front of me. Again, I pulled back. He grinned. "Eissh, I'm not eating you or anything."

His eyes were already searching for the only person he came to the Hillary campus for. The moment he found him, his name slipped from his mouth like a quiet promise. “Noa.” His gaze locked onto the one thing that always gave him away. The bold letter C represents Captain, which was stitched proudly onto the chest of his jersey. Even from across the rink, he stood out effortlessly. He moved across the ice with calm precision, every stride smooth and controlled. His turns were sharp, his stops clean. When he passed the puck, it traveled exactly where it needed to go without hesitation.

When he’s so fucking pissed, he can’t even come up with another witty, dickish retort. It’s actually a fun little game I like to play—see how many digs it takes for him to shut down. Sometimes, I even try to beat my own record. Going for a low score, like in golf. Right now, I’d say I’m two under par. Arching a brow, I give the jackass a winning, plastic smile. “See you on the ice, Orlov.”

Kael warned, looking up at the intensifying white dot in the grey sky, "the million souls in our server vats will be cooked before they can even be printed. We’re sitting in a giant microwave." The Counter-Play: The Faraday Rink "We can't stop the beam," Elara said, her golden eyes reflecting the encroaching white light. "But we can Redirect it. The ice... the Rink. It’s not just for the game anymore." She looked at the massive sheet of "True Ice" at the center of their city. "Rhys, if we dope the ice with the Isotope Cell’s heavy particles, can we turn the Rink into a Superconducting Mirror?"

"I've never seen anything like it." "Explain it to me." Gregor pointed to the center. "The ice didn't melt. It shattered. From underneath. Like something pushed up from below." "Something? Or someone?" Gregor's eyes met mine. "I don't know, Alpha. But I've been doing this job a long time. Ice doesn't do this naturally." I nodded. "Fix it. Whatever it costs. I want the rink ready for practice by tomorrow." "Tomorrow? Alpha, that's..."

Adrian asked, his hands pausing on his laces. "Let me see your left foot." Ethan gently gripped the toe of Adrian's boot, tilting it toward the harsh fluorescent light. He pointed to the structural seam. "Look at this. The locking mechanism is completely loose. If you take a hard turn on the ice, this blade is going to snap right out of the holder." Adrian’s eyes narrowed. He reached down and gave the steel runner a firm tug. With a sickening click, the blade wobbled loosely in his hand. If he had stepped onto the ice, his ankle would have snapped the moment he crossed the blue line.

Some of the boys are sitting in front of the TV playing video games. Elias, goalie and head whore, is in a corner making out with two girls. Drew, the shy forward, and Ian, Canadian defenseman, are playing a game of pool next to Elias. Alex returns to join them, pushing past Elias on the couch. “Hey, Dakota,” Max, one of the defensemen, greets me as he walks past us with a load of laundry. He stops to pick up a pair of socks. “Guys, how many times will I tell you to keep your laundry in the baskets?” he grunts.

NOAH'S POV The private indoor lake house was silent, lit only by the moody, dim blue lights reflecting off the sheets of ice. I stood by the edge of the rink, my skates already laced tightly, leaning against the glass. The chill in the air usually calmed my head, but tonight, my chest felt like a ticking bomb. The doors at the entrance finally creaked open. Calix stepped inside, clutching his hockey bag tightly against his chest. He was shivering from the midnight air, his black curls messy, his eyes darting around the huge, dark facility with defensive panic.