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Convinced that she didn’t hit her head, doesn’t have a concussion, and hasn’t broken any bones, I decide she’s safe enough to be moved off the ice.
“I’m going to lift you now, then we’re going to help you off the ice and into my office to check you over properly, okay?”
Still a bit dazed and confused, she nods. I couldn’t feel any bumps on her head, but maybe she does have a concussion after all. I slide my hands under her and with Whit’s help, we get her onto her feet. Another resounding crack fills the air and the ice quivers underneath me. Looking down I see the ice splintering from beneath our feet, spreading out slowly in a network of web-like fissures.
I shoot Whit a panicked look. What the hell is happening to the ice? We never have problems like this, even during hockey games when supes clash with power to rival a natural disaster.
Quilo grabs the skates and clears the way for us, Whit already on his phone no doubt trying to deal with the unexpected problem of the rink cracking. And seemingly melting too. Fuck. Do we need to close?
“Mama!” The small child launches herself at Lumi the second our feet are off the ice, colliding with her and causing a small gasp of pain to escape.
“I’m okay, baby,” she tells her daughter through gritted teeth and a false smile. “Wait with Aunty Ya-Ya while I get double checked.”
She lets us help her into the medical room, and I quickly wash my hands ready to check her over properly while Whit helps her onto the couch. Quilo stands by the locked door watching.
My breath catches in my throat and a thousand volts of energy hit my chest.
Things are about to get messy. Because Quilo, Whit and I are all staring like lovesick teenagers into the eyes of my mate.
