Bring it on

Chapter 11

I'm sitting in the locker room, a towel draped over my shoulders, my head spinning from the game we just played. Another win-one more to add to the streak-but all I can think about is her.

Natalie.

I try to get her out of my mind, but it's impossible. Even after a hard-fought win, even after the adrenaline of the game, she's there. She's been there ever since I met her. That first time I saw her on the ice, gliding like she belonged in another world-graceful, beautiful, and completely out of my league.

I can't stop replaying everything in my head: her laugh, the way she smiles like she's keeping a secret, the soft way she says my name. Ethan. Like it's a word that's only for her.

I know I'm not supposed to feel this way. Hockey and figure skating-they don't mix. Or at least that's what I told myself when I first started noticing the way my chest tightened whenever I saw her. But here I am, sitting in the locker room, ignoring the noise around me, just thinking about Natalie.

The guys are still talking-there's always some post-game analysis, but I'm barely listening. My thoughts keep drifting back to her. To the last time I saw her, last weekend at the rink. The way her eyes sparkled when we talked, how she was different from the other girls I've met-so independent, yet so full of warmth.

I pick up my phone and scroll through the messages, but there's nothing new from her. No surprise there. She's probably training, or rehearsing, or doing something that doesn't involve me.

And I get it. I know how these things work. She's a figure skater, all elegance and poise, while I'm just a guy who can barely stay upright without smashing into someone on the ice. She doesn't need this-me-getting in the way of her focus.

But the way she looks at me sometimes? Like she sees me, not just the guy in a jersey, but the real me? I can't get that out of my head.

"Yo, Ethan!"

I look up, startled, to see Mark standing by the locker room door, holding his phone in front of him.

"Your girl's been texting you." He grins, obviously teasing, but I don't care.

Without thinking, I grab the phone from him, scanning the screen for any sign of a message from Natalie.

I don't even know what I expect to see. A text. A photo. Hell, maybe even just an emoji would be enough to make me feel like she's thinking about me.

But there's nothing.

I hand the phone back to Mark, trying not to let my disappointment show.

"Don't look so bummed out, man," he laughs. "She'll come around."

"I'm not bummed," I lie, pulling on my shirt and grabbing my bag. "Just not used to this whole... waiting thing."

"You're not used to waiting?" Mark raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? You've been playing hockey your whole life. You know how to wait for the right moment."

He has a point, but that doesn't make it any easier. In hockey, I'm in control. I know where I need to be, when to make a play, how to anticipate my next move. But with Natalie? I don't have a playbook. I don't even know the rules.

I step out of the locker room, trying to shake off the feeling that's been creeping up on me. I can't be this guy-the one who's obsessing over every little thing when it comes to her. I need to focus, to get my head back in the game.

But then I see her.

She's leaning against the wall outside the rink, talking to a couple of other skaters, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun. As soon as she notices me, her face lights up, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world is put on pause

"Ethan!" Her voice rings through the noise of the arena, and I swear, the way she says my name makes everything else fade into the background.

"Hey." I walk over, trying to play it cool, but my heart is racing. "You out here waiting for me?"

She laughs, a soft, melodic sound that makes everything feel just a little bit warmer. "Not exactly," she teases. "But I did think I'd run into you eventually. You guys played well tonight."

"Yeah, we got the win," I shrug, trying to act like it's no big deal, but the pride I feel in my team's performance is nothing compared to how I feel just being here with her. "How was practice?"

"Good," she says, her eyes sparkling. "Just working on some new routines. I was hoping I could get your opinion on something later."

"Anything," I say without even thinking. I'll be her personal critic if she asks. Hell, I'll do whatever she needs me to do.

"Okay, cool. Let's grab coffee sometime this week. If you're not too busy." She glances at the floor, like she's unsure whether to keep pushing.

I can't believe she's saying this. A coffee? With me?

"I'm not busy," I blurt out, trying not to look too eager. "I'm free anytime you want. Just say when."

She smiles at me, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. "Great. I'll text you," she says, her voice light. "But I should get going. My coach is waiting for me."

"Right," I say, watching her turn to leave.

"Talk soon, Ethan," she calls over her shoulder, and I'm already counting the seconds until she's back in my life again.

I can't help but feel like I'm walking on air as I make my way out of the rink. It might just be one coffee, one simple moment-but with her, it feels like the start of something bigger. Something I didn't even know I was missing until she came into my life.

Maybe I'm starting to believe in the idea of waiting for the right moment, after all. Because when it comes to Natalie, I'm pretty sure I've already found mine.

That night, dinner goes exactly as I hope it will-and yet, completely differently than I expect.

We pick a cozy little Italian place downtown. Not too fancy, but the kind of place where the food tastes like it's made with love. We talk about everything-gymnastics, hockey, pressure of upcoming competitions, the way people who care about us never seem to fully understand what we go through.

Not exactly two people from different worlds, but two people that get it. The sacrifice, the drive, the loneliness that comes along with being so focused on our respective sports.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I can feel my walls coming down. I can feel myself opening up in a way I don't usually do, not even with my teammates. There's something about Natalie-something about the way she listens, the way she doesn't judge-that makes it easy.

She talks about her routines, her passion for skating, the way she dreams of one day performing in front of a huge audience, maybe even on the Olympic stage. She tells me that sometimes it feels like she has to prove herself to everybody, but that the moment she's on the ice, she feels like everything's worth it.

Sometimes," she says, "I think about how much I've sacrificed, and I wonder if it'll all pay off. But then I skate, and it all makes sense. It's like the world disappears, and all that matters is what's in front of me.

I nod, knowing exactly what she means. When I'm on the ice, or in a game, the world falls away, too. It's just the game, the puck, the goal.

"I get that," I say quietly. "It's the same for me. There's nothing like the rush of a game-winning shot, or a perfect pass. Everything else disappears.

She smiles, leaning in a little closer. "Maybe one day we'll get the chance to show the world what we're really made of."
"Yep," I answer, my voice a little more serious than I anticipate. "One day.

We are in that position, staring at each other, the conversation turning into something deeper than words. Now it's clear: neither of us is pursuing a win. We're chasing something above and beyond the game. Beyond any medal or title.

It is that-what exists between us. To show each other who we really are, what we're capable of, when the world is watching.

And maybe, just maybe, we're both ready for it.