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No no no.I can’t let him invade my thoughts. It’s just me, myself, and I this morning. The only audience I have are the frosted breath clouds that follow me around. The blades cutting through the ice, making a delicate shushing noise, like a librarian gently quieting a room full of unruly books. The subtle whispers of my steel blades, cutting through the surface, whispering secrets to the ice.
Shoosh, swoosh, swoosh.
I find solace in the cold embrace of the ice, my little escape from life, if only for a moment.
The solitude is liberating, a chance to leave reality behind, (which is less than stellar ever since my Olympic dream was swept out from under me) and just breathe in the cool air of the arena, even though the lingering smell of propane from the Zamboni hangs around. It's a peculiar mix of circulated air and the mechanical scent of a fresh resurfacing. Yet, it adds to the charm, like the backstage smell of a theater just before the curtain rises.
There’s a magical romance that unfolds every time I lace up my skates and take to the ice. It’s my home, where I’ve spent my entire childhood and adolescence preparing for two defining weeks of my life. The Winter Olympics. Only to have it taken away in one devastating swoop.
It’s still strange to skate without a partner, even though it’s been a few years. My coach urged me to change disciplines and train for the singles competition for the future. Ekaterina Gordeeva did it, after all.
But I can’t bring myself to do that.
I’m so immersed in my loops, I don’t even notice Owen has been watching me from afar until his steel scrapes the glass. I turn around, only to see him coming at me. With each powerful stride, he effortlessly slices through the ice, his body moving with an innate elegance as he carves a determined line into the frozen surface to corral me against the boards.
I push off and pick up speed, gliding across the ice as fast as my blades will carry me. But Owen is right on my tail. I veer left, and he mirrors me. I zigzag right and he's there again, matching my every move.
There's no shaking this guy. He's relentless.
I pour everything I've got into my crossovers, praying my little legs can out-power his massive thighs. But it's no use. He's gaining on me.
In a last ditch effort, I stop short and pivot a perfect three-turn, darting back the way I came. Owen overshoots just enough for me to slip past him.
"Not so fast, Kitty Cat," he calls out.
I feel Owen's presence filling up the space behind me, back on my tail.
I'm running out of ice. The boards loom large ahead. If I want to escape, I'll have to think fast.
At the last second, I veer along the boards. But he's too quick, angling his body to block my path.
I slam on the brakes, ice chips spraying as my blades scrape to a halt. Owen stops mere inches from me, his hulking frame towering over me. I'm trapped.
"You've got some moves," he says with a cocky grin. "But not good enough to shake me."
My heart races, only partly from the chase. His gaze sears into mine with an intensity that makes me shiver despite the heat on my skin.
I force myself to hold his gaze. "Are you done having fun? Because some of us have work to do."
He places one hand on the boards beside my shoulder, leaning in close. "I just want to talk."
His breath caresses my cheek, sending a tingling rush over my skin. I swallow hard, willing my nerves to settle. I can handle Owen Jablonski.
I duck under his arm and back away a few feet to a safer distance. "About what?"
He pushes off and closes the gap between us again. "You."
He’s so fast, I don’t even have a chance to escape him. He is a mountain rising before me.
Hot, blue eyes drill into mine with the intense ferocity of a tiger, yet there’s a hint of a smile on his mouth.
He leans in close, trapping me, his powerful presence a great big wall of man.
"I know it's you," he says, with a voice low and husky. "You're the one behind that damn hockey blog."
My heart races as his words hang in the frigid air. How did he find out? I took great care to keep my identity concealed, to protect myself from the repercussions of revealing the truth. But now, standing before Owen, all of my carefully constructed walls begin to crumble.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my trembling breath.
