Chapter Six Skye
Chapter Six
Skye
The rink lights snap on at seven thirty in the morning, harsh and in your face, just like I’m about to be.
I’m already laced up and ready to go, waiting on my girls to roll in to our first practice as Olympic hockey players.
Being captain of the team means I’m the first one on the ice and the last one off. Not because anyone told me to, but because I need to set an example, and this point in our career is pivotal.
As soon as my skates touch the rink, I tap my stick twice on the ice and listen to the sound echo through the empty arena.
We’re here. We’re on Olympic ice.
It’s time to shine.
Play fast. Play fearless.
“Let’s go, ladies. Ten-minute warm-up laps,” I order as they file onto the rink, big grins on their faces as we take on our first professional day here.
We start with three easy laps. No pucks, just edges.
“Inside edges only. Control your hips,” I call out as we move.
We drop into C-cuts, opening our hips, waking up our mechanics. Then, transitions forward to backward at the blue line.
“Commit to it,” I shout. “Trust your outside edge!”
Everyone is on point, but I can feel the nerves thick in the air. We’re ready, but the nerves are inevitable.
We split into three stations with rapid-fire passing, blue-line walk-and-shoot, and corner retrieval under pressure. Coach Madsen watches us intently from the players' bench, occasionally tapping away on her phone.
I start with station three, rimming the puck hard around the boards.
“Shoulder check before you touch it!” I yell.
Our winger, Rissa, retrieves it with a defender, Liv, closing in. Rissa takes the blow, protecting the puck with her body and reversing it without hesitation.
“That’s it. Olympic teams don’t give you time to think. Keep it up!”
We keep the drill high-tempo, no glide-bys, no lazy sticks; just like we do at home.
“If we flub the pass, we don’t sulk. We reset.”
We make it through the rest of the stations, switch into special teams to power play, then battle drills, and finally a full-ice scrimmage.
Everything goes so smoothly that I almost forget where we are and what we’re practicing for.
It’s so fluid that I feel like we’re on our home ice just vibing with each other.
The only difference is our home team isn’t here, and that’s part of what makes this team so strong.
Even though we didn’t practice together every day, it still feels like our plays are solid.
We do a cool-down and huddle up. Coach Madsen looks to me, and I nod. Time to give these girls a pep talk.
“We’re close. But close doesn’t win gold. Details do. Back checks. Clean passes under pressure.”
I look around at every face, their eyes staring me down as they take in every word I’m saying to them.
“No one outplays us. Not today. Not these next few weeks.”
Sticks start tapping on the ice in agreement as they get amped up while my voice rises.
“Who are we?” I shout as the sticks continue to tap.
“U. S. A!” the team shouts.
Sticks are tapping even harder.
“Who are we?” I shout louder.
“U! S! A!”
“WHO ARE WE?”
“USA!”
We all skate away, cheering with the excitement of being here.
There’s so much to do on play days, and so little to do on off days.
I know we need to keep warmed up, but I need to find the balance between practicing too much, where we’re sore and worn out, and not enough practice, where our plays are getting sloppy.
My legs ache, and my lungs burn as I head into the locker room to change. I can hear the team chatting about our drills today. They seem happy with how things went, and I am genuinely proud to be their captain.
The opening ceremonies are tonight, and I can’t wait to mark that experience off my checklist.
I’ve been staring at my phone ever since I put my number in Drunk Woman’s phone. Even after all that, I still never got her name. And who the hell was I to give her my information? I didn’t even give a fake number like I’ve done in the past.
I think I’m getting soft.
My phone dings, and I’m almost afraid to check it. What if it’s her? What would I even say?
Our last encounter was a bit of a doozy.
I thought for sure she was going to clock the guy behind the counter.
Honestly, it would be deserved. At least investigate the situation if a customer tells you that someone was in their hotel room.
I’m sure she had leverage by threatening to get her lawyer involved.
It would have been fun to see her punch him, though.
And why did I feel the need to touch her and drag her away from the situation? My hand went right to her waist without thinking. It felt natural. I dragged her drunk ass to her hotel room one time, and now I’m her knight in shining hockey gear?
No fuckin’ way.
My phone dings again, and I practically lunge for it this time.
What the fuck was that for, Skye? Calm down.
But I can’t calm down because it’s an unknown number that texts me, and it starts out with an introduction.
It’s her.
It’s Drunk Woman.
Drunk Woman: Hey, this is Violet. My friends call me Vi, so I guess you can too. I typed this message three times before I finally decided to send whatever I came up with, so I apologize in advance for whatever my hands say.
I smile at my phone. Actually smile. Who is this girl, and why does she have me feeling like I can’t dislike her?
Skye: Hey, Violet
Seriously? All I’m going to say is her name? It is a nice name, though. She looks like her name would be Violet. Put together, but it can also be a mess when things aren’t going right. Willing to talk to anyone about everything and make new friends in social situations.
I never analyze people like this. I need to stop.
I’m adding her contact to my phone when her reply comes through.
Violet: That’s all you’re going to say after I basically word-vomited all over you about absolutely nothing?
Skye: I’m sorry. I wasn’t really sure how to reply to someone who sounded like they were having an aneurysm.
Was that too much? Did I actually just insult her on my second text message?
Violet sends through multiple laughing-crying emojis.
Well, apparently, I’m funny. But I was kind of being serious. How would a one reply to someone who goes off about not knowing what to say? “Do you need a minute alone with yourself?”
My phone dings again, and I realize I didn’t reply to the emojis. Again, not sure how to reply to that.
Violet: So, you’re in the Olympics?
Skye: What gave it away?
Good job, Skye. Engaging in conversation.
Violet: I saw the logo on the back of your jacket when you left the hotel this morning. Kind of a big hint.
Skye: Ah. My jacket tattled on me.
Violet: She cracks jokes!
That makes me laugh.
Did I just get called out by Drunk Woman?
I kind of like that, but I can’t explain why. Maybe because she seems so transparent with a what-you-see-is-what-you-get personality. Willing to make blunt comments because it’s the truth, and sometimes that hurts.
Transparent and truthful. I’ll take a few shots of that, please.
Now that I know her name, I want to know more. Even the smallest of details about the woman I poured into her hotel room bed.
Skye: What’s your favorite Olympic sport?
Violet: Figure skating.
Ouch.
I thought for sure she’d try to butter me up and say hockey. Is that what friends do? Are they just honest with each other?
I’m sure Paige is brutally honest, too; I’ve just never really opened up to her enough to find out. Having close friends was never something I was good at because I’d rather stay home and binge-watch a show than go out to a bar and socialize.
Skye: Why?
Violet: Are you asking why someone would like figure skating or why I personally like figure skating?
I would never bash another sport. Especially knowing what it takes to be successful at anything well enough to make it to the Olympics. I bet if I asked Paige, she would help me with socializing and texting so I didn’t always come off as offensive or unapproachable.
I’d have to ask her, though.
Skye: Why do you personally like it?
Violet: Because if I were a figure skater, I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else.
Didn’t realize we were getting so deep into a conversation so quickly. We’ve barely held two conversations with each other. Although I did hear all about her cheating ex-boyfriend. I did practically carry her to her hotel room and put her to bed.
Skye: What about couples skating?
Violet: Those people are just delusional.
Skye: Harsh!
I can’t believe I used exclamations. I never show emotion in text messages.
Violet: I don’t mean it like that. I guess I can’t put into words what I’m trying to say… overall, I like the solo figure skating events the most. I retract my previous statements.
Skye: You don’t get to take it back. You’ve already said it.
Violet: Haha! I think I can do whatever I want. I’ve earned that right.
My face starts to hurt, and I realize I’m still smiling at my phone.
Skye: How so?
Violet: By being a strong, independent woman.
I want to call her out on that since she wasn’t even independent enough to make it to her room last night, but I don’t want to draw focus on her bad night.
I do, however, want to know just how independent she is. What does she do for a living? Why is she in Milan? Is that getting too personal with someone?
I’m so not good at this.
Violet: Figure skating is also a work of art.
I don’t know if she says this because she means it or if she’s saying this to undo what she said earlier.
Violet: The way they move over the ice and land those crazy jumps and twists. Not to mention the actual dance they’re doing the entire time they’re skating.
Skye: Well… hockey is basically figure skating, but with sticks and a lot more rage.
Now she sends through multiple rolling-laughing-crying emojis.
Okay, so I definitely like it when I make her laugh. I don’t know why, because it shouldn’t matter to me, but it feels like an accomplishment for some reason. Like a goal I didn’t know I had.