30. Ice Time
30
ICE TIME
RORY
“ S o are you ruined?”
My father’s first question to me. I’d no sooner walked through the mansion doors before I found myself in my father’s office. I was grilled for hours about my time with the Irish. Niko stayed too, though he remained mostly silent, lurking in the back corner with his arms crossed and an extra pissed off expression on his face, even for him.
I clench my fists just thinking about it. No, “ are you okay ?” Or “ what can we do?’”
Nope. Why am I not surprised his primary concern is the status of my virginity?
Not that I am a virgin —but I certainly haven’t told him that. A tiny little rebellion in a world where I’ve had little choices. My father couldn’t exactly control everything while I was away at boarding school...
After what seemed like hours of reassuring him that the Irish hadn’t touched me. He finally allowed me to go up to my room, with orders to remain there until further notice. Restricted to the property. The thought of missing even more training… I begged him to reconsider.
All I need is some ice time. I need to skate . All it got me was a backhand smack to my left cheek, reopening the healing cut I suffered from the glass window shattering at Elements.
Wiping the blood away with my sleeve, I stomp up the stairs. I throw myself on my bed, fuming over being forbidden from leaving the house.
National qualifiers are four weeks away! I don’t have time for this.
After one week stuck in this house, I’m on the verge of madness.
I spend most of my days downstairs in the mansion’s gym, working out and practicing off-ice jumps, but it’s not the same. I can’t take it anymore… The need to get on the ice consumes me. The ice has always been my safe place, the only outlet I’ve ever had in my lonely little world. Being away from it for this long has me on edge. I’ve felt different ever since I’d arrived home. Since my time with the Irish, I’m desperate for a taste of the familiar.
The clock on my bedside table reads precisely four-thirty a.m. when I carefully slip out of my bedroom door. Clutching the skate bag I have slung over my shoulder, I walk down the hall on near-silent toes.
Niko’s gone back to his apartment in the city, and my father has his own wing on the opposite side of the mansion. While there are always soldiers on guard duty at the house, it’s lighter than it should be. At this hour, there are probably only one to two guys on duty. And they usually stay outside.
My father’s ego might be the death of us one day. Niko’s been on him for months to beef up security at the mansion, but Adrik refuses. So sure no one would dare strike him here, arrogant is what it is. The Irish shot up Elements only two weeks ago and blew up a couple more warehouses full of inventory.
This isn’t the first time I’ve snuck out for early ice. Sometimes a girl needs to leave her house alone without the escort of a six-foot-tall armed Russian. Having every move of mine watched and reported on is incredibly draining. And I can’t say I don’t get a little thrill whenever I steal a chance to be on my own. Free to do what I want, where I want. It’s a silly little novelty, but I live for these moments.
I‘m careful to stay far away from the back end of the house. Since Sasha is watching the front, whoever else is on duty should— in theory —be out back.
I clear the house without incident, slipping out the side door, conveniently out of range of view from the guardhouse down by the road. Creeping forward, I’m careful to stick to the shadows looming from the high walled fencing on the property, keeping my eye on the guardhouse.
Sasha’s head is bent over, the bluish glow of a screen lights up the little room. I wait, checking my watch and digging the toe of my sneaker nervously into the deep gravel, all while scanning the nearby area for any threats. Sasha should be taking his bathroom break any minute now… I’m dressed all in black. The hood of my sweatshirt pulled up to cover my light hair. It would be next to impossible to spot me where I’m hidden, if you weren’t trying.
Just as I worry Sasha’s bladder schedule has changed, he rises with a loud hacking cough. Yeah, years of smoking will do that to you. He steps out, suit unkempt, tie hanging round his neck, and shuffles out of the gatehouse toward the garage housing my father’s fleet of fine vehicles, as well as the guard’s office. The desperate moaning and squeals from the porn he’s clearly in the middle of watching fades away with him.
I make myself wait for another entire minute after Sasha closes the door behind him before making a mad dash for the gate. Until I make it outside of the compound, I’m exposed. So the faster I am, the better. The gravel crunches softly under my sneakers, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I hit the wrought-iron fence. Off to the side is a pedestrian gate, so I don’t need to draw any attention by hitting the button for the main gate.
In seconds, I’m through. I meet my Uber a couple of blocks over, far out of sight from the house.
Sneaking out is definitely easier than sneaking back in, but that’s a Future Rory problem.
Until then, the ice awaits.