Edge Of The Ice (On Going And Own Book)

Cold Begginging. 4

Alex tried to refocus, burying himself in the rhythm of practice. Skates cutting into the ice, the sharp snap of the puck against his stick—it was all supposed to drown out the thoughts that kept creeping in. But the harder he tried to block everything out, the more his mind wandered.

Cass still lingered at the edge of his vision, a distraction that refused to fade. Even though they were on the other side of the rink, it felt like they were right there, like every spin and jump was a direct challenge.

He didn’t need challenges. He had enough of those.

“Rivera!” Coach Harris’s voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. “You sleeping out here? Move it, kid! You’ve got a defender on your tail!”

Alex blinked, realizing he’d slowed down during a passing drill. His stomach twisted, embarrassment rising in his chest as he caught a few sideways glances from his teammates. He pushed harder, speeding up to match the pace, but the sting of Coach’s words lingered.

Focus, he told himself. Focus.

But then came another voice. “You’re slacking, Rivera,” Logan teased, skating up beside him during a quick break between drills. “Letting Cass get in your head?”

“I’m not letting them get in my head,” Alex snapped, a little too quickly.

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, man. I’m just saying—you’re not yourself today. Thought maybe Aldridge was throwing you off.”

Alex gritted his teeth. Logan wasn’t wrong, and that only made it worse. But admitting that? No way.

“I’m fine,” Alex insisted, skating toward the boards to grab a quick drink. He didn’t want to talk about Cass anymore, not to Logan, not to anyone. The less attention he gave them, the better.

But as he downed water, his gaze drifted—without meaning to—back to Cass.

They were doing some intricate footwork now, gliding across the ice like it was effortless. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. Everything Cass did felt like a reminder of how hard he had to fight for what came so naturally to them. He worked tirelessly just to keep up—on the ice, at school, at home—while Cass seemed to float through everything, untouched.

He looked away quickly, trying to shake the thought, but it stuck. Alex hated feeling like this—like he was always chasing something, someone. There was always something just out of reach.

Coach Harris’s whistle pierced the air again. “Break’s over! Back to work!”

The team split up, heading into their next drill, and Alex forced himself to focus on his footing, on the puck, on everything except the gnawing frustration building in his chest. This time, he wasn’t going to let it slip.

But as they moved through more drills, the tension didn’t ease. His passes were too hard, his shots too wide. By the time practice wound down, Alex’s legs ached, but not from the usual burn. It was the kind of exhaustion that settled deeper, a mix of frustration and pressure that weighed heavier than his usual focus.

“Better today, Rivera,” Coach Harris said as the players gathered at the boards. “But I need you sharp for Cedar Heights. No room for hesitation, you hear me?”

Alex nodded, but the coach’s words felt like a weight pressing down on him. The rest of the team started to peel off the ice, laughing and chatting as they skated toward the locker room, but Alex hung back, dragging out his last few moments on the rink. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to face the questions, the teasing. He just wanted space to clear his head.

He skated to the far end of the rink, letting the noise of the team fade behind him.

Just as he reached the edge, a voice cut through the quiet. “You looked... tense out there.”

Alex turned, already knowing who it was. Cass had skated up behind him, leaning casually on the boards, watching him with that same infuriating smirk.

“I’m fine,” Alex muttered, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t need this right now.

Cass raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure? Looked like you were about to snap that stick in half a few times.”

Alex felt his jaw tighten. “What do you want, Cass?”

Cass tilted their head, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “Nothing. Just... watching. It’s hard not to notice when someone’s skating like they’re running from something.”

“I’m not—” Alex stopped himself, forcing his frustration down. “I’m not running from anything. Just working. Like you should be.”

Cass’s smirk softened, just slightly. “I’m always working, Rivera. But you—you look like you’re burning yourself out. Maybe ease up a little. You’re good enough.”

The words stung in a way Alex hadn’t expected. He should’ve brushed it off, laughed, or snapped back with some sarcastic remark, but something about Cass’s tone—something uncharacteristically sincere—made him pause.

He didn’t say anything. He just skated away.