Bring it on

Chapter 8

I think Ethan may be the most spontaneous person I have ever met. It's not about the way he skates, though he's fast-faster than I had expected. It's this space between us, wherein he continually presents himself as an unspoken challenge I couldn't resist but take up. He turns everything into a competition, but not the aggravating kind. It's more like... it's a game I cannot stop playing, even when I try to resist.
And today? Today is different.

I just finished a really long practice, sweating and winded, my legs hurting from all the jumps and spins. I've been on the ice for hours now, and it's starting to feel like this rink is my second home. The sharp edges of my skates cut into the ice, and I start to slow down, making my way to the boards in a gradual fashion.

I come to a stop, wiping my brow with the back of my glove, when I hear the unmistakable sound of hockey sticks tapping the boards. I look over. Ethan's standing there, his hockey teammates behind him all in their usual jerseys. They're laughing, raucous, filled with that weird energy only hockey players seem to have. But Ethans eyes find mine almost immediately, and his smirk is unmistakable.

"Didn't know you were still here," he says, pushing off from the boards and skating toward me with a practiced glide. His movements are smooth and effortless; I was caught by the way he owns the ice. Like he's a part of it in some sort of way that I simply couldn't explain.

I raise an eyebrow, adjusting the blade of my skate as I straighten up. "I'm always here."

He nods, his grin widening. "I noticed."

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch upward despite myself. "What do you want, Ethan?"

He shrugs, his shoulders broadening beneath the jersey, and leans against the boards. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd be up for a little challenge today."

The moment he says it, I feel a familiar pulse of adrenaline shoot through me. Another challenge? Really? But I'm not about to back down, not after everything that's happened between us. He's never backed off before, and I won't let him think he can intimidate me with something so small.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, my voice more confident than I feel.

He says simply, his tone light but with that mischievous glint. "Race," he says. "The entire length of the rink. You and me."

I laugh, half in disbelief. "You're serious?"

Ethan's grin only expands, eyes narrowing as he steps forward, stance suddenly more athletic, like he's preparing for something big. "Oh, I'm always serious when it comes to winning."

"Well, I don't lose.".

That's when it hits me-he knows this too. He knows exactly what I'll say, how I'll react. And somehow, that makes it worse. I'm not just racing against him; I'm racing against my own pride.

"Ready?" he asks, already skating backward as if he's so sure that I'll follow.

Without thinking, I push off, my skates cutting cleanly through the ice as I match his speed. We're almost even at the halfway mark, my legs pumping hard beneath me, my body leaning into the forward motion, and I can hear the faint sound of his skates skating just behind me.

"Not bad," he calls out, his voice carrying over the ice. "But I'm still gonna catch you.

"Not today!" I shoot back, digging deeper into my stride, forcing myself faster. The burn shoots through my calf muscles, but it's a good burn-the kind that makes you feel alive, reminds you why you put in all the work, why you train so hard. At this point, the rink's a blur; everything in my mind is focused on the finish line, the edge of the boards.

But as I approach the end, I feel him come up beside me, our skates nearly touching. His breathing is even, his movements smooth. He's too close. He's going to-

And in one swift movement, he reaches ahead, his hockey stick outstretched just enough to tap the boards first.

"Gotcha," he says, his tone smug and victorious.

I grit my teeth, trying to stay mad, but the laugh comes out anyway, bubbling up before I can suppress it. "You cheated."

He's skating a little slower now, and he gives me a look back over his shoulder, the challenge gone from his eyes, his expression more. playful. "I didn't cheat. I won. Fair and square.

"Fair and square?" I echo, heavy on the mock incredulity. "You won because you used your stick. That wasn't fair."
He shrugs. "I'm a hockey player. It's kind of my thing."
"Yeah, well, next time, I won't go easy on you." I tilt my chin up, the challenge still hanging in the air between us.

Ethan gives me a sideways glance, that familiar, teasing grin back in place. "Next time? I'd like to see you try."

I'm about to fire back some witty comeback when his teammates call out from across the rink, loud and obnoxious, dragging his attention away. "You coming, man?

He looks over, pauses for a moment, and then looks back at me, his features softening for a second. "I'll catch you later, alright?"

"Yeah, whatever," I say, feigning indifference as I roll my eyes, but the truth is, I'm not quite sure if I'm more annoyed or impressed.

Ethan heads back to his team, and I watch him go, my heart still hammering from the race, from the weird tension that always seems to linger around him. Part of me wants to stay angry