Chapter Three #2
Four-thirty-two a.m., the clock reads.
Time to get moving, I guess. Elsie was expecting me at the rink at five a.m. I’m not sure what my tasks will be today, but my stomach is in knots over seeing her this morning. I haven’t spoken to Elsie in months, and our last interaction wasn’t exactly a positive one.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, and run a comb through my hair. It was getting longer now, auburn strands hitting right around my rib cage, and I can’t remember the last time I had it cut. Just showering was a hard enough chore these days.
My bare face stares at me in the mirror.
It has been a long time since I had really looked at myself.
Dark circles have permanently moved in under my eyes, and the once-prominent freckles across the bridge of my nose are now faded from hiding away in the dark for months.
I consider putting on makeup, but ultimately decide against it.
Maybe I’ll scare away anyone who tries to talk to me today if I look like a corpse.
I throw on a sports bra and leggings, zipping a tight athletic jacket over the top, and I quickly braid my hair down my back. My favorite baseball cap sits on my front entryway table and I grab it at the last minute, throwing it on top of my head.
My keys jingle in my hand as I lock my door and walk into the cold to my Jeep. Connecticut in early January is brutal. There’s no snow on the ground right now, but it’s icy and the windchill is unforgiving. February will probably be worse. It always gets colder right before the spring.
I sit in my Jeep, rubbing my hands together as I wait for the car to warm up, then slowly back out of my parking space. I should have remote started it, but I forgot in the chaos of being awake before dawn.
The drive to the rink is short, only ten minutes or so. The parking lot is as empty as I expected, but I can’t make myself park up front in the spot I usually would. I haven’t stepped foot in the rink since last April.
I think back to the Nationals team from the party this weekend. They’d recognize my Jeep instantly. Yeah, no, definitely can’t park where I usually would, so I circle around to the very back of the parking lot.
Wind whips at my face as I trek toward the rink. It takes several minutes to get there from my car, and my nose is cold and undoubtedly pink by the time I open the heavy glass doors. They groan under the weight, and I ease them shut behind me, careful not to let them swing closed.
I spot her before she spots me. Elsie. She’s standing at one of the concession stand counters, deep into reading some stack of papers.
Her blonde hair is streaked with gray these days and it reflects the can lights above her head.
I shove embarrassment deep down, an act I’m so used to doing by now, it’s second nature.
I know she has to hear my feet clicking against the linoleum floors, but she doesn’t look up.
“You’re late,” she says, barely glancing at me from the paperwork in her hand. I look at the clock above her head. Five-oh-four a.m. “I told your dad you could work here under two conditions—you don’t fuck around and you get here on time.” Her icy eyes finally look up and meet my own hazel ones.
“I—” I start, then stop myself. What good would an excuse do with Elsie? I stopped talking to her because she saw through every inch of my bullshit, and it hurt too much to be called out continuously. “Won’t happen again.” I shuffle my feet.
“You’re on bathrooms to start.” She isn’t looking at me anymore. “Girls’ locker room, guys’ locker room, guest bathrooms and the staff bathroom. You know where the supply closet is. I’d better be able to eat off it when you’re done.”
I fucking knew she’d put me on bathrooms. That was always my punishment when I’d mouth off to her growing up. I can’t count how many times I heard, If you’re going to talk like you belong in a toilet, you’re going to clean them up, too. Maybe that’ll teach you to quit jawing.
It hadn’t. I was mouthy from the time I stepped into this rink to the day I walked out of it.
Elsie was stern. No-nonsense. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard her tell me in words, but I never doubted for a second that she loved me more than my own mother did.
I had always wondered if maybe something would develop between her and my father—I used to spy glances between the two of them growing up—but to my knowledge, nothing ever has.
Or maybe they’re sneakier than I give them credit for.
The day I left the rink, I shouted at her. She was pushing me to get back on the ice, even if I wasn’t at the level I was before. I told her to go fuck herself in front of an entire class of eleven-year-old girls.
Elsie had put up with me pushing back at her for over a decade but that day…that day, I pushed too far.
“Get out of my rink and don’t you dare come back until you’re ready to stop taking your anger out on the people who love you, Monroe Abrams.”
I trudge to the supply closet, leaving Elsie standing up at the front of the rink. It won’t officially open until six-thirty, so I have a little time to get going before the rink is teeming with people.
Occasionally, you’ll get a skater—figure or hockey—booking an earlier time slot. Generally one of the Wolverines running drills or a figure skater working early with a coach, so I’m not too surprised to see one of the Wolverines on the ice already. I peek in to see who it was.
Rhodes McKnight.
I stand at the window that opens to the rink. Parents sometimes stood here to watch their kids play and avoid being in the freezing stands.
Rhodes was running some kind of drill, racing from one side of the ice to the other, smashing pucks from the center line into the goal.
He skates harshly to a stop near the entrance and shavings of ice fly around his skates.
Rhodes snags his phone off the side of the rink and I watch him scroll through it.
Sweat rolls off his hair in beads. I clock the massive bruise above his eye, the still-healing split lip from the fight at the last game.
The Nationals team had been required to watch some of their games and vice versa, with them coming to a few of our competitions—to gain respect for each other’s sport, according to Dad.
And there had always been a little bit of fraternization between the figure skaters and the hockey players.
Who else could understand our unique love of zooming around on tiny blades over sheets of ice?
And I know he was a massive deal his rookie year.
Dad talked about him all the time. I wasn’t shocked at all when he made Rhodes captain.
And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous.
Dark wavy hair, navy blue eyes. Megawatt smile.
Exactly what you think of when you think hockey star.
He’d asked me out once, but I’m fuzzy on the details.
He has headphones in, so I can’t hear the song he picked for his next drill. I take that to be my cue to quit staring at the Wolverines captain before he catches me and continue my walk to the closet to find the bathroom-cleaning supplies.
I still had the key to the rink on my key ring, and the master worked for everything. The door groaned as I unlocked it and pushed it open. My eyes land on the cart with the supplies, and I roll it out into the hallway, wheels squeaking.
If their schedule was still the same as it was a year ago, the Wolverines would have the ice before the figure skaters, so I might as well start with the guys’ locker room first. It was still so early, and I couldn’t imagine Rhodes will be done skating by the time he needs to use it.
Lucky for me, even the guys’ space is relatively clean.
Elsie runs a very tight ship, and if any of the guys who use her rink even thought about trashing it, they’d be out so fast. My dad might own the rink and coach the team, but Elsie was the real boss here.
If she so much as hinted that someone was disrespecting her or her space, my dad had them on their ass outside the rink.
Daughters included.
I scroll through my own playlist and pop my headphones into my ears. Blink-182 blasts into my head, removing any negative thoughts that might be floating around in there. It is better if I don’t think too much right now.
Once the toilets are done, I move onto the sinks and the mirror. I’m methodical, wiping down the glass, refilling the soap dispensers. I dump the trash out into bags and line the cans with new ones.
The locker room smells like boy, sweaty and musty, but I figure there just probably isn’t very much Elsie could do about that. I pull out some of the air fresheners and place them strategically around the area.
Since everyone around hockey knew that nothing smells worse than sweaty hockey gear—maybe a decaying carcass—the fact that this room was only slightly stinky was honestly an accomplishment.
The music was loud, the bass beating through my skull when I stood up from where I was kneeling, grabbing some trash that had fallen underneath one of the benches. A flash of movement had me flipping around, a scream lodged in my throat.
I yank the headphone out of my ear.
“What the hell?” I demand. Rhodes McKnight is leaning against the locker door, smirking at me. He’s wet, probably from the shower. I clearly hadn’t heard him come in at all. A towel is slung low on his hips, accentuating an annoyingly defined V.
“I mean, I could probably ask you that same thing.” He saunters into the room, finds his locker, and pulls it open. I shove my cart to the side, cross my arms and scowl. “Last I heard, you were removed from the premises for aggravated assault.”
“I’m cleaning, jackass,” I snap, ignoring his second statement completely.
I did not assault Elsie, but damn, if that’s what he’s heard, the rumor mill must have been working overtime.
“Obviously.” I gesture to the cart next to me, as if the overflowing bags of hockey boy laundry and cleaning supplies weren’t clear enough.
“Didn’t realize they were hiring felons,” he deadpans, yanking a fresh set of clothes from his gym bag.
“Didn’t realize my dad wanted a liability for a captain,” I retort. He flicks his eyes back to me, navy blues narrowing on me just for a second, sharp and cutting.
“Man, I’ve heard about your bitter ex-athlete schtick, Abrams,” he snorts, recovering and pulling on a black, long-sleeved shirt.
“But damn, sweetheart, to see it in person is truly a work of art.” He flicks his head back, eyes raking over me before throwing me a wink and a grin.
And dropping his towel. I see a flash of bare ass before I turn away, cursing.
“Good God, Rhodes,” I bite out, dragging my stupid cleaning cart behind me toward the stupid double doors. “At least wait until I’ve left the room to strip.”
“You were staring so hard, I thought I’d give you a show,” he yells behind me. “You’re welcome!”
I mutter another string of profanities under my breath as I leave and I can hear him bark a laugh as the door swings shut.
Stupid Rhodes McKnight.
The cart is heavy now, and pulling it to the girls’ locker room is taking all of my strength. I’m incredibly out of shape, I’m just now realizing. My arms already hurt from all the scrubbing I’ve done this morning, and I just know I’m going to be sore tomorrow.
Pathetic.
A nasty laugh stops me in my tracks. I look up and wonder how my day could possibly get any worse. I knew this was a possibility, but geez, on day one?
Natalie Dorier and the rest of the U.S. Nationals team is standing in front of the doors to the ice, huddled together, sickeningly sweet smiles aimed in my direction.
“Oh my God,” she says, a sharpness glinting in her eyes. “Monroe Abrams.”
I suck in a breath.
“Natalie,” I reply. I make to move around the group, but she steps into my path.
“What are you doing here?” She cocks her head, puzzled.
“Working.” My reply is short and tense. “Excuse me,” I say, attempting to move around her again. This time a tiny brunette blocks the path. Isla Frankie.
“Weren’t you, like, kicked out of the rink?” Isla asks in mock confusion. Again with the questions. Some of the other girls snicker behind her. “I’m shocked they let you within ten feet of the arena.”
“Ladies,” Elsie’s voice booms sharply from the doorway to her office, and she pokes her head into the hall. “Move along.” They at least have the decency to look somewhat chastised before they move their group en masse toward the other locker room.
“Oh, Natalie,” I say, voice syrupy sweet.
She stiffens and turns slowly, eyes narrowing.
“I almost didn’t recognize you without my choreography.
Congrats on bronze, though. I know taking the quad axel out must have been devastating, what with the difficulty level taking such a hit, but hey—you really made it work. ”
Her jaw tics. For a second, I’m worried she’s going to lunge at me, but instead she whips her perfect blonde ponytail over her shoulder and stomps into the locker room without another word.
I sigh heavily when she’s gone, the bravado I briefly felt exiting my body.
“Go home for the day, Monroe,” Elsie calls from inside her office, the door still open. I wince internally, knowing she probably heard my snarky exchange. My first impression back is killer.
I tilt the cart onto its back wheels and start my walk to the supply closet. When I flick my eyes back toward the Wolverines locker room, I notice Rhodes leaning against the open door.
His brows are raised, lips twitching in amusement as he lifts his water bottle, giving me a silent cheers.
Fan-fucking-tastic. I love an audience.