Chapter Ten
Leila
I push through the double doors of the ice rink, my skate bag slung over my shoulder and a knot in my stomach.
Coach Cameron had practically begged me to do this lesson after catching part of my practice session last week, and despite every instinct screaming this was a bad idea, I’d eventually said yes.
The familiar smell of ice and cold air hits me, but instead of the usual calm it brings, my cheeks flush with heat. Memories from a few nights ago hit me; the chase across the ice with three masked men, the way . . .
“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, adjusting my ponytail and trying to focus on why I’m actually here.
The Gravepoint hockey team is already on the ice doing warmup drills when I emerge from the tunnel.
I recognize most of them, and my stomach does a little flip when I spot three familiar figures among the group.
Knox, Riven, and Jagger are spread out across the ice, going through their usual pre-practice routine.
Coach Cameron comes over when he sees me. “Leila, thank god. I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” I admit, lacing up my skates on the bench. “I doubt I will be welcomed with open arms.”
“Trust me, they need this more than they’ll admit.
” He helps me onto the ice, then turns to address his team.
“Eyes up, boys. This is Leila Kane. She’s a figure skater, and before you laugh, she could outskate half of you blindfolded.
Division one or not, your edge work’s been sloppy, and it shows in your transitions.
She’s here to clean that up. And Riven”—the coach fixes him with a pointed look—“this matters for you most. Your recoveries are too slow out of the crease. You want faster saves, sharper pushes? Then you listen to her.”
There is some grumbling from a few players, and I can see the skeptical looks on their faces. One of the forwards, a guy with bleached tips who I think is named Tyler, raises his hand.
“Coach, isn’t she related to the Kane brothers from Stormhaven? What’s stopping her from going back to them with our strategies?”
His question hits a nerve, and I turn around to face the team, my hands planted on my hips.
“You want to know why my brothers are so good?” I ask, my voice carrying across the ice.
“Because they don’t bitch about taking lessons from a girl or a figure skater.
They do whatever needs to be done to be the best. But hey, if you think your edge work is already perfect, feel free to keep up with those sloppy transitions that are costing you the game. ”
I hear a familiar laugh. Knox is trying to hide his grin behind his glove, while Jagger looks like he’s enjoying the show entirely too much.
“Damn, Tyler,” Jagger mocks. “She just called you out harder than Coach ever has.”
“Yeah,” Riven adds. “Maybe next time don’t question someone who could probably skate circles around you backward.”
Knox nods in agreement. “Pretty sure she proved why the Kane brothers keep winning the games we should be taking from them.”
Tyler’s face turns red, and he mutters something under his breath that I choose to ignore. The rest of the team, however, now seems on board.
“All right,” I say, pushing off from the boards and gliding into the center of the ice. “Let’s start with basic edge work. I want to see everyone do forward crossovers around the rink. And I mean proper crossovers.”
As the team moves off, I focus on analyzing their technique.
Knox has powerful, efficient movements, but his transitions could be smoother.
Jagger’s got natural athleticism, but he’s relying too much on brute force instead of technique.
And though Riven moves like water, the coach is right about his recovery speed.
I try to maintain a professional distance, treating them like any other player I’m here to help.
Knox nods politely when he skates past, Jagger gives me a cocky grin he probably gives everyone, and Riven is unreadable.
But there are brief moments that catch my attention.
The way Jagger’s eyes seem to linger when I’m demonstrating something new.
How Knox’s movements get a little sharper when I’m watching him specifically.
Or the way Riven’s attention seems more focused on me than is necessary for the drills.
Then again, I’m probably being paranoid.
Having three masked strangers texting me regularly is apparently making me see things that aren’t there.
“Better,” I call out after they’ve completed a few laps. “But I can still see some of you favoring your inside edge too much. Tyler, you’re practically carving trenches out there.”
We work through several more drills: backward crossovers, tight turns, transition work from forward to backward skating. As I show them each technique, I try to ignore the way certain players are watching my movements.
“Okay, now I want to work on something specific,” I announce, skating to the center of the circle they’ve formed around me. “Quick direction changes. This is where figure skating techniques really help. We are trained to change direction without losing speed or momentum.”
The group moves to the side of the rink as I demonstrate a series of quick turns and direction changes, the kind of moves that helped me evade the masked men a few nights ago.
“The key is keeping your weight centered and using your edges to control the turn,” I explain. “Who wants to try first?”
Several hands shoot up, including Tyler, who seems determined to redeem himself. But it’s Knox who speaks up.
“I’ll give it a shot,” he says, skating forward. “Though I have a feeling I’m about to embarrass myself.”
“Just do your best,” I say, then take up a position nearby to watch his form.
Knox attempts to replicate the sequence, and while he doesn’t execute it perfectly, he’s better than I expected and his transitions are smooth.
“Not bad,” I tell him as he finishes. “Your edge control is actually really good. You just need to trust your balance more.”
“Thanks,” he says, “I’ll work on that.”
As practice continues and I work with each player individually, I find myself stealing glances at the three guys who’ve been occupying way too much of my thoughts. By the time practice is over, I realize how much I have missed this—maybe not with these hockey players but with my brothers.
“Excellent work today,” Coach says as we wrap up. “I want all of you practicing those edge drills in your own time. And Tyler,” he says as he fixes the forward with a stern look. “Next time someone’s here to help you improve, maybe try saying thank you instead of questioning their loyalty.”
As the team skates toward the tunnel, Jagger glides past me and slows down.
“Nice lesson, Kane,” he says casually. “Maybe you should come around more often.”
Before I can respond, he’s gone, following his teammates off the ice. Knox gives me a nod and a quick, “Thanks for the help,” while Riven simply inclines his head.
As I pack up my gear, I can’t shake the feeling that this whole situation is getting more complicated by the day.
I’ve gone from trying to fly under the radar, to teaching their hockey team, working on a project with Knox, running into Jagger at coffee shops, drooling over Riven in sweats, and spending my evenings being chased by masked men.
My phone buzzes as I’m walking to my car.
GlowStick
Heard you taught some hockey players how to skate today
My heart stops as I look around the parking lot, but I don’t see anyone watching me.
Me
How could you possibly know that?
Breadstick
Word spreads fast when you’re showing the rivals how it’s done
I glare at my phone.
Me
Were you there?
GlowStick
We have eyes everywhere
I don’t answer.
As I drive home, I can’t stop thinking that I need to end this soon. I love the masks and the fun, but maybe it’s time to stop hiding and live my life for me. Even if my brothers don’t like it.