Chapter Six Skye #2
And I actually agree with her about the sport being a form of art.
I’ve always been blown away by the movements they do on the ice.
I know I can be like a bowling ball when I slam into the opposing team, but my arms aren’t floating above my head or anything when I do it.
And I’m sure as shit not going to jump and twirl.
Violet: You’re fun to talk to.
That sends a jolt up my spine.
Is she flirting with me?
She said “ex-boyfriend,” so I assumed she was straight. Maybe there’s more to her than I realized. I just need to be careful.
Skye: Thanks
I regret that text as soon as I send it. When I made a mental note to be careful, I didn’t mean that I should annoy her.
She doesn’t text me back, and I don’t blame her.
I should have replied, “You’re fun to talk with too,” as cheesy as it sounds.
I almost cringe just thinking I should have sent that message.
But I don’t want to do anything that I wouldn’t normally do.
That’s what went downhill with Alisha when we were together.
She tried to make me into something I’m not, and I finally snapped.
I’m done with that. I’m done inviting people into my life who don’t deserve to be here.
My phone chimes again, and I feel hopeful. But it quickly fades.
Paige: We’re getting ready to head out for dinner and then to the opening ceremonies. You want us to meet you in the lobby?
A text from Paige shouldn’t bum me out, but I was hoping it was Violet starting our conversation up again. I know I have the physical ability to say something first, but I don’t think I have the mental capacity to.
Skye: Yeah. I’ll meet you down there.
I erase any nervous thoughts of holding full conversations with an attractive woman for the first time in forever, and shift all of my focus to one of the first milestones while I’m here in Italy.
The Olympic Opening Ceremony.
We’ve played in world championships. We’ve played in sold-out arenas. We’ve played for a chance at gold.
But nothing feels like this.
We’re lined up in the tunnel, packed shoulder to shoulder in full parade uniforms instead of our jerseys. No helmets, no gloves. Just blazers, scarves, and the weight of a flag folded carefully in my hands.
The roar from inside the stadium is constant. Just a living, vibrating sound. Seventy thousand people breathing at once.
Paige nudges me. “You good, Cappy?”
I glare at her, but at this very second, she can’t even annoy me. So, I let my glare dissolve into a satisfied smirk.
I’ve taken game-winning faceoffs in overtime and stood on blue lines during national anthems with my pulse steady as a stone.
But this?
My hands are shaking, and I swear my mouth is so dry that my tongue could get stuck to the inside of my cheek.
A volunteer leans in. “You’re up in thirty seconds.”
I turn to my team.
“Stay together.” I swallow my nerves. “This is ours.”
The doors open and light floods the tunnel, so bright it feels like stepping into the sun. The stadium explodes as we walk out behind our country’s sign. Cameras swing toward us, and giant screens are projecting our faces over twenty feet tall.
I lift the flag.
The fabric catches the air immediately, heavy but alive in my grip. Every step feels like I have a purpose here.
We’re not in hockey skates or hunched over our sticks; we’re walking upright and exposed.
I glance to my left and notice Paige is teary-eyed, as is half of our team. They’re trying to cry and smile at the same time. It’s hitting them hard, and I love that they’re appreciating the weight of this moment.
“Take it in.” I smile, leaning in. “We’ve earned this.”
We circle the track slowly, other nations watching from the infield. Some wave, some cheer, some stare with quiet recognition. I want to narrow my eyes at them and say, “We’ll see you soon,” but now is not the time to make the other teams feel small. We’ll do that on the ice.
The announcer's voice echoes over the loudspeakers, “The United States of America.” The stadium volume spikes so loud it rattles my ribs. For a second, everything slows. The lights, the sound, the movement.
I think about playing with pucks and sticks on the road at my mom’s house.
I think about joining the street hockey team when I learned to control the puck.
About the first time I put on a pair of ice skates and hit my face on the ice so hard I needed six stitches in my chin.
I think about the first time I scored a goal.
The first time I got drafted for the women’s hockey league. The first time I made team captain.
And now I’m carrying our flag into the Olympic Games.
We reach our designated section on the field. I pass the flag carefully and gather the team into a tight huddle.
“This is the only time we get to feel like this before the work starts,” I say quietly. “Tonight, everyone in this stadium is family. Tomorrow, we’re opponents.”
We break, arms slung over shoulders. Fireworks ignite above us, colors exploding across the sky. Music blasts into my ears, and performers flood the stage.
The ceremony is a ritual, but the tournament will be a battle.
I look at my teammates, and I feel something stronger than nerves. I’m almost convinced it’s determination and readiness.
When the cauldron is lit and the games officially begin, the roar of the stadium returns.
I clap each of my teammates on the back and give them a sure smile.
We’re not just here to participate. We’re here to win.