8. Ethan
8
ETHAN
T he rink's almost empty, the only sound my skates cutting through the ice. That's the way I like it. No distractions. I stay late, working on integrating with team plays. I shoot puck after puck, feeling the weight of every mistake I've made since joining this team. Each shot's an attempt to bury my frustration.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps. Turning, I see Olivia standing by the boards, her notebook in one hand and her other hand on her hip.
"Late night practice?" she asks, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Need something?" I counter, ignoring her question. The last thing I need is someone witnessing my struggle.
"No," she says, holding up her phone. "Just left this in the press area. I suppose my memory skills are about as poor as my ability to avoid running into people."
I fight the grin that threatens across my face. I skate over to the boards, resting my stick against the edge. "And you've just decided to stick around and watch me fail at team drills while you're here?"
Her eyes narrow slightly but there's a hint of amusement there. "Failing? Looked like you were just warming up."
"Funny," I say, not really feeling it. "Didn't realize you were a comedian too."
She leans against the boards, watching me closely. "You always this charming?"
I shrug, turning away and shooting another puck into the net. "Only when I'm being interrupted."
"Touchy," she says softly but doesn't move away. Instead, she continues watching me like she's trying to figure me out.
After a moment of silence, she speaks again.
I lean on my stick, eyes narrowing at Olivia. “You really want to see some drills?”
She nods, a spark of interest lighting up her green eyes. “Absolutely. Readers love that behind-the-scenes shit.”
I sigh, more for effect than anything. “Fine. But don’t expect a show.”
As I skate to the center of the rink, I feel her gaze follow me, an unexpected warmth spreading through my chest. I start with some simple puck-handling drills, moving the puck between my skates with precision.
“Nice control,” she calls out from the boards, her voice carrying clearly across the ice.
“Just getting started,” I reply, not looking up.
I shift into shooting drills, sending pucks flying into the corners of the net with deadly accuracy. Each shot reverberates through the arena, and I catch glimpses of Olivia scribbling furiously in her notebook.
“Is it always this easy for you?” she asks after a particularly sharp shot.
I smirk. “Nothing’s easy in hockey.”
She laughs softly. “True. But you make it look effortless.”
I skate closer to where she’s standing, feeling an odd need to explain myself. “Years of practice and a lot of bruises. You don’t get good without taking a few hits.”
“Sounds like life,” she says thoughtfully.
“Pretty much.” I set up for another drill, this time focusing on my footwork and agility. The rapid turns and stops are second nature to me, but knowing she’s watching adds an extra edge to my movements.
“How do you stay so quick on your feet?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“It’s all about balance and knowing your body,” I say, finishing the drill and gliding back towards her. “You gotta trust your instincts.”
She leans against the boards, clearly impressed. “Ever get nervous before a game?”
“Never.” The word comes out more forcefully than intended.
Her eyes search mine for a moment before she nods slowly. “I believe you.”
I finish a particularly sharp spin and send the puck sailing into the top corner of the net. It’s one of my signature moves, and I can feel Olivia's eyes on me, analyzing every detail.
“Damn,” she calls out with a small clap, her voice echoing slightly in the empty rink. She steps down from the boards, her boots clicking against the ice surface. “Impressive. How do you do that?”
I skate over, stopping just inches from her. “It’s all about muscle memory,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral but failing to hide a hint of pride.
“Can you explain the mechanics of that move?” she asks, notebook ready.
I hesitate, knowing words won’t do it justice. “It’ll be easier if I show you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Show me?”
“Yeah,” I say, already moving towards her. “Come on, it’s not that hard.”
She looks skeptical but takes my offered hand. Her grip is firm but hesitant. “Alright, but don’t laugh if I fall.”
“No promises,” I reply with a smirk.
She steps gingerly onto the ice, her boots slipping slightly. I steady her with a hand on her waist. The contact sends a jolt through me, but I ignore it.
“Okay,” I say, positioning her feet. “First, you need to get your balance.”
She nods, concentrating hard as she mimics my stance.
“Now, shift your weight like this,” I guide her through the motion slowly. She follows my lead, surprisingly steady for a first-timer.
“Alright,” she says, confidence growing in her voice.
“Now for the shot.” I place a puck in front of her stick and guide her hands into position. Ignoring the spark I feel when touching her. “Use your whole body to swing through.”
She takes a deep breath and executes the movement. The puck glides towards the net and slips past an imaginary goalie.
“I did it!” she exclaims, spinning around in excitement. But her foot catches an edge, and she starts to fall.
I react instinctively, grabbing her waist again and pulling her upright. For a moment, we’re locked in an embrace on the ice, faces inches apart.
Our breaths mingle in the cold air as we stare at each other. Her green eyes are wide with surprise and something else—something that makes my heart race.
“You good?” I ask softly.
She nods, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah... thanks.”
We stay like that for a moment longer before I reluctantly let go, clearing my throat awkwardly.
“Well,” she says with a laugh, stepping back carefully. “That was more exhilarating than expected.”
I step back, forcing my hands to my sides, even though every instinct screams to stay close. Olivia regains her balance, brushing a stray hair from her face and giving me that damn smile that’s making it hard to think straight.
“Well, Thanks for that impromptu lesson,” she says, her voice a mix of amusement and genuine gratitude.
“No problem, if you continue to practice maybe you can replace Liam,” I mutter, as I walk towards the box to pack up my gear. I need to focus, get my head back in the game. But that's not happening now when Olivia's perfume continues to invade my fucking senses.
We leave the rink, Olivia’s boots clacking on the concrete floor as we walk towards the parking lot. I keep my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to ignore the unfamiliar warmth in my chest. She’s chatting about something—probably a follow-up question for her article—but I’m too focused on keeping my guard up to really listen.
“So, do you always practice this late?” she asks, glancing up at me with those bright green eyes.
“Only when I need to,” I grunt, keeping my gaze straight ahead.
“Must be tough, balancing solo practice and team drills,” she says, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.
I shrug. “You do what you gotta do.”
We reach her car, and she fumbles with her keys. I can’t help but notice how small she looks next to me, yet there’s a strength in her that’s hard to miss.
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything more. She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. The car hums to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.
“Well, goodnight then,” she says with a smile that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.
“Goodnight,” I mutter, stepping back as she closes her car door.
As her car disappears down the road, I feel an unexpected sense of loss settle over me. Shaking my head, I remind myself why I don’t get close to people. Trust issues run deep; focusing on hockey is safer.
I turn back towards my car, my mind already shifting back to tomorrow’s practice. But even as I try to concentrate on strategy and plays, Olivia’s smile lingers at the edges of my thoughts.
Damn it. This is exactly why I need to keep my distance. Distractions like her can mess up everything—my game, my focus. I can’t afford that now. Not when the playoffs are on the line.
I open the door to my truck with more force than necessary, trying to shake off the lingering warmth in my chest. It’s time to get back to what matters: hockey and winning games.
But as I start the engine, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder one last time, hoping for a glimpse of her taillights in the distance.