Edge Of The Ice (On Going And Own Book)

Fractures Beneath The Ice. 31

The next week felt like a whirlwind—practices, school, late-night texts with Cass. For a while, it seemed like everything was smoothing out. Alex kept his head down, focused harder in hockey, and tried to carve out time for Cass without losing himself in the mess of expectations. But there was an underlying tension he couldn’t shake, a growing unease that gnawed at him.

It was Friday afternoon when things began to crack.

Alex was at the rink again, running drills with his team. Coach Greene was watching him closely, his sharp gaze tracking every movement. Alex could feel the pressure mounting with each pass, each sprint across the ice. His muscles ached, and the usual flow of practice felt off, like his body wasn’t responding the way it should.

"Keep your head up, Alex!" Coach barked as Alex narrowly missed intercepting a pass.

His jaw clenched in frustration, his stick tight in his hands. He knew he was better than this—knew he could do more. But the weight of everything outside the rink was dragging him down, slowing him in ways he couldn’t explain.

“Alright, huddle up!” Coach’s voice cut through the rink as he called the team over. Alex joined the circle, out of breath, sweat pouring down his neck. Coach Greene glanced over the group, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve all got talent,” he began, “but talent only takes you so far. If you can’t keep your focus, you’re going to crash. Hard. And I’m seeing some cracks out there—especially from you, Alex.”

Alex’s stomach twisted as Coach’s eyes landed on him. The rest of the team stayed silent, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Regionals are in two weeks,” Coach continued. “And if you don’t get your act together, you’ll be sitting on the bench. I don’t care how many goals you’ve scored this season. We’re playing as a team, and right now, you’re dragging us down.”

Alex’s cheeks burned with shame. He opened his mouth to defend himself but stopped, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. Coach was right—he wasn’t performing at his best. But the pressure was suffocating, the weight of everything outside the rink too much to leave behind.

“Practice’s over,” Coach said sharply. “Go home. Think about what I said.”

As the team began to scatter, Leo jogged over, clapping Alex on the back. “Man, don’t let him get in your head. You’re just having an off day.”

“It’s not just today,” Alex muttered, yanking off his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Coach is right. I’ve been off for a while.”

Leo frowned, looking like he wanted to say more, but before he could, a familiar voice echoed from across the rink.

“Alex?”

Alex turned to see Cass standing at the entrance to the rink, their skates slung over their shoulder and a concerned look in their eyes. Alex’s chest tightened. He hadn’t expected them to show up, especially after how rough the past few days had been. It wasn’t like things were falling apart, but the pressure was starting to creep into their conversations, too. The pressure of Cass’s showcase, his regionals—everything colliding at once.

“You okay?” Cass asked, their voice soft as they approached, casting a quick glance at Leo, who gave Alex a small nod before skating off.

Alex sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just… not the best practice.”

Cass studied him for a moment, then nodded, their expression thoughtful. “I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Yeah, well, so do you,” Alex said, the frustration slipping into his voice before he could stop it. “We both do.”