The lightest sun

Chapter 6

Cole
Shattered ice

I didn't make it in time.
Not at all.
Remember, never be 40 minutes late.
Or your coach will kill you like me in the very near future.

When I step on the ice and at the same time fasten my helmet, I don't even have time to take a step before a ringing voice tears up the entire ice rink.
"Canning! After training, I'll be waiting for you at my place!" The coach shouted.

Translation: He'll kill you, Caninng.
I drove up to Jackie, who was waiting for his turn to accelerate.
"Where the fuck have you been?"
"In a traffic jam." I muttered as my fist met his.
"Or is it all about the beautiful girl?"
"Fuck off."
"The first time you told me about a girl, I can't."
"You...."
"Grandmothers, can I set up a bench for you so you can chat? We covered the distance quickly!" The coach's roar did not allow me to finish my sentences.
We quickly exchanged glances with Jackie and accelerated to the blue line like lightning.

I love being friends with him.
We were close from university and when we ended up on the same team we decided it was destiny.
Or they just got drunk together at a bar.
Essentially, the same thing.

Today I was even more irritable than usual.
I loved arriving at the skating rink when the sun barely peeked over the horizon and the fresh air stung my cheeks. The skating rink was always quiet, the kind of quiet that existed only in the early hours before the bustle of the day began. I loved these moments, the calm before the storm, the time when I could collect my thoughts and focus on the day ahead.

When I could sit down on the bench and pull on my skates with customary ease. The familiar ritual calmed my nerves, and I could feel the tension in my shoulders ease as I laced up my skates, each jerk bringing me closer to the ice, my sanctuary.

Now the cold seeped through my equipment, but at the same time it gave me strength.
And I would trade thousands of my rituals to hear the calm heartbeat of Jane in her sleep or the happy jam-stained Amy.

Remembering them, I immediately lost concentration and the asshole Clarson immediately took advantage of this to slam me into the side during a two-way match.

The pain seeped into my shoulder, which made me curse this guy even more.
The rink around him slowly but surely took root in the battlefield. Coach Wills, as usual, stood on the side with a notepad in his hand, his stern gaze watching each preparing player. I respected Coach Wills; he was a tough but fair coach who pushed his players to become the best versions of themselves.

"Okay, get ready!" The coach's voice interrupted the task, attracting everyone's attention. "Right now we will focus on speed and agility. I want to see your best. No relaxation."

I nodded along with the rest of the team.
I love the exercise, the intense concentration and the way the world narrows down to him, the puck and the ice. We started with circles, building up speed, then moved on to more challenging exercises that tested our reflexes and coordination.

I thrived in this environment: my body moved through muscle memory and my mind was free to strategize.
And this means that in the end I will be a sponge that can survive well.
This is your damn habitat, Canning!

***

After an hour and a half, the sweat was actually dripping off me as if I was in the middle of the desert on the hottest day.
And I would gladly stand under a cold shower if I weren't standing in front of Wilis like a damn schoolboy.

"Are you fucking kidding me!"
I leaned tiredly on the doorframe.
"No." I answered calmly.
He looked at me venomously and loudly threw the folder on the table.
"Is it true?" He asked with obvious sarcasm. "What the fuck is happening to you? Finally get your Canning balls out of your ass and show them to help your team and not the other way around!"
"But..."