The Unspoken Pass

Teaching the future stars

Before dawn's first light painted the horizon, Hope gently awoke, her senses immediately drawn to Lizzie's uneasy breathing. It was apparent that some dark dream had gripped the taller girl; soft, distressed whispers of "Fire, Fire" echoed through the stillness. But as the whispering ceased, Hope chose not to rouse her. Instead, she took the opportunity to admire Lizzie in the soft glow of the pre-dawn.

The serenity of the room was only punctuated by Lizzie's rhythmic breathing. Even in slumber, Lizzie's beauty was undeniable. A beauty some might argue was too delicate, too ethereal for the rough world of hockey. The delicate rise and fall of her chest, the gentle curve of her lips, and the silhouette of her lashes cast long shadows on her cheeks, all made Hope's heart skip a beat. And as the sun began its ascent, casting a tender golden aura, Lizzie looked even more mesmerizing. The light played on her features, making them appear as if they were sculpted from the finest marble.

Lost in her admiration, Hope's reverie was interrupted by a soft moan from Lizzie. Instinctively, Hope turned away, a faint blush warming her cheeks, afraid of being discovered in her moment of open adoration.

However, when Lizzie's fingers fumbled for her phone and her eyes blinked open, a flood of confusion washed over her. The unfamiliar surroundings and the absence of the familiar sounds of the stadium startled her. Her face was a canvas of concern, and she seemed on the verge of panic. Without hesitation, Hope turned to face her, their eyes meeting. In that brief, shared moment, both the worry and the depth of their unspoken feelings shimmered in the space between them.

The soft morning light streamed through the window, casting a muted glow on Lizzie's face. The subtle movement of her eyelashes and the lines of worry etched on her forehead caught Hope's attention. She leaned closer, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Lizzie's gaze was distant, clouded with anxiety. "No," she whispered, "I need to get back to the stadium. Now."

Hope's heart rate quickened as she noticed the raw panic in Lizzie's eyes. Trying to understand, she questioned, "It's still so early; you don't have a skating practice, do you?"

Lizzie shook her head, her voice on the brink of despair. "No, it's not that. Today's a school holiday, and there are kids coming in for training. I have to be there."

A pause followed, filled with palpable tension. Lizzie's next words were a mere murmur, almost lost amidst her mounting anxiety. "I'm going to get fired," she admitted.

Hope's brow furrowed, concern deepening. She wasn't aware of the gravity of the situation - how losing this job would render Lizzie without a home.

A quick mental calculation told Hope that walking or even running back to the stadium would take at least an hour. Without hesitation, she offered, "Want a lift?"

Lizzie's eyes darted to Hope's. Normally, pride and modesty would have her decline such offers. But today, desperation outweighed decorum. Swallowing hard, she hesitated, "Are you sure?"

Hope simply nodded, determination evident in her eyes.

"Then, yes," Lizzie whispered, gratitude filling her voice, "Thank you."

As urgency propelled them, the two women dashed out of the house, embarking on a journey filled with more than just the goal of reaching the stadium.

The car roared to life, its engine purring in quiet anticipation, and Hope pressed the accelerator, pulling them out of the driveway with urgency. With every tick of the clock, the pressure of time weighed heavily.

Lizzie's voice was animated, even amidst her evident stress. "You know, there's this one kid, Jamie," she began, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, "he's convinced he's the next NHL star. But his version of skating? More like fancy footwork on the ice."