The Search For Shattered Pieces *Complete*

Chapter Eleven: Compulsory Collision

Lyra:

    Mom always told me that there was magic in the way that I skate. She told me that I had fire and ice in my veins and the true soul of a skater in my blood. When the walls of the rink would close in on me, mom was the buffer that held the weight away, she was the calm in the storm, and the voice of reason and love that soothed my ragged and chaotic emotions.
    I remember the very first moment that I touched ice for the first time...the very first moment that I put a blade to that cold, hard surface. I was barely two, and mom had taken me to the rink because she couldn't find childcare that day. I remember, clear as a chiming bell, the angry voices, and growing noise as mom, dad and several other assorted adults boxed my mom in and yelled at her. I'll never forget (that's the sorry state of having an eidetic memory) the expression on my mom's face as my dad, Stefan, berated her for bringing the brat (that would be me) to important practice time. How he was just another angry voice in the milieu that was the tornado brewing around my poor mom. I remember listening and watching for as long as I could before the gleaming, reflective surface seemed to beckon me, call to me. Everything faded away then...my mom, my angry father, the other adults who interjected with their horrible noise. All I wanted was to somehow make contact, and to be close to that beautiful, pristine ice.
    I pulled off my little shoes, took off my jacket and hat, and when I was standing in nothing but my stockings...I made my way to the ice. It called to me. And nothing would keep me away. The minute my feet touched the ice I knew! I knew that this was where I was meant to be. I knew that I was connected, not tenuously, or slightly, but robustly and overwhelmingly to this scape that was larger than me...larger than anything I had ever known and would ever know.
      That magical time passed in a blink of an eye. But for me, it was as if an entire brilliant lifetime sped by, whizzing past my eager eyes, and my sure feet. I was so free, the world, shrunk to just that moment, and it was mine!
At that time, it hadn't occurred to me that what I had just done was anything out of the ordinary. I had seen this incredibly magical glimmering surface and I knew that I was meant to be a part of it. It wasn't until I heard my father's familiar angry voice that my beautiful snow globe experience was shattered. Suddenly my mother wasn't at the receiving end of my father's ire, disdain and disgust...I was.  To this day, i'm certain that he would have continued to berate me had it not been for the coaches, and mom, who immediately began to exclaim over what they had just witnessed.  Minus the complex jumps, I had executed a very rudimentary version of my mom's own routine—one she had been working on for Nationals, in stockinged feet, no less.  My love affair with skating began then, and my lover, cold, hard and unforgiving as "he" could be, was, with the exception of my mom, my true love.
      But for all that skating brought into my life...it also (to my young mind) took away something too—something I thought I'd never get back—my father.  Because not long after I was introduced to the rink, my father left...for good. And for a long while I was certain it was me that it was my fault my father left, because before that incident, embarrassing him at the rink, he and my mom were still together. I knew that there was something wrong, that my parents didn't seem as happy as other parents, but at the end of the day it didn't matter, what it came down to was that they were the only parents I had...they were mine, and I loved them with every fiber of my small young body.  Mom was mom and dad to me from that day forth—and not a day went by that she didn't shower me with love, encouragement and praise. As time went on some of the pain of my father's abandonment faded, and was replaced by simmering anger and hurt. But no matter how upset or angry I got over the years, I couldn't seem to rid myself completely of that small sliver of love I still harbored for him, and a child's wish for praise and acceptance from her father.
      "You're thinking really hard..."
      I blink a few times, and come to the realization that I totally blanked out. Turning to Tal, I give him a small, wan smile.  "Yes, sorry."
      Tal smiles that brilliant smile of his. "No worries. Care to share?"
      Hmmm...care to tell my new stepbrother about how my father seemed to hate me even when I was a baby? And that my mom, although strong, had been broken-hearted, completely devastated by his abandonment.  Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.
      I shake my head. "It's nothing...hardly worth sharing," I say.
    "Why do I get the feeling that you're lying to me?" Tal said.
    I shrug, and give him a half smile, "I don't know, why do you?"
    Tal shakes his head and laughs. "You are something else, Lyra."
    "She's something, all right," Trent mutters, and I frown.
    I am not going to let him get to me. No, nope, nopity nope. I am immune to him, and all of his wily ways. I'm just going to imagine that he's like a fancy fixture—beautiful, cool to look at, but that's it. Yup. That's my plan, and I'm sticking to it.
    "Well, that's a nice ride," Tal suddenly says, and I realize that we've stopped in front of the house.
    "You recognize it, bro?" Trent asks.
    Tal shakes his head. "No."
    I wrinkle my nose. I'm not sure what the fuss is about. The car that they're staring at is nice, but not nicer than any of the ones that they own...at least in my opinion. I open the door and get out of the car, and I'm startled when I feel a large, warm hand touch, and settle on my shoulder. I look up and am captivated by beautiful turquoise orbs. God! Lyra, get a hold of yourself. Remember your mantra...they are like hot, gay, skaters...hot, gay, skaters.
    "You're staring, gorgeous," Tal says, a huge, brilliant smile gracing his gorgeous face.
    I swallow, hard, and try to school my face. "There was something on your face..." I say and immediately want to smack myself. God...there was something on your face? Could I have said, and sounded any stupider? I mean, that was lame...really, really, lame.
    "Oh...of course there was," Tal says with a smirk.
    I roll my eyes and start moving toward the front door. Yes, my response was lame, but I'm not going to stick around and let them continue to laugh at my expense (although I totally deserve it...that was lame...even by my standards).
    I yank open the front door and freeze, barely feeling Tal and Trent run into me. Oh. My. God. Jesus, Mary and Joseph...no...no...I'm not ready...I'm not prepared. What is he doing here? I'm still staring in stupefied silence when my father's cold, controlled voice breaks the tense silence.
"Finally...we've been waiting on you."
I swallow, hard.  "I...I..." jeez, Lyra, speak, say something...anything. You. Need. To. Speak.
"It was backed up, Stefan," Tal says suddenly, "Lyra has no control over the bypass or any of the fucked up traffic."
Stefan narrows his eyes.  "Watch your language, Tallis.  And if this becomes a habit...then I'll have to see about getting her a driver...one who understands the importance of schedules."
Schedules? I bite my lower lip nervously.  I don't remember Stefan or Bethany mentioning anything about a meeting today.
    "Bullshit," Trent spits out, "...there was no fucking schedule, you didn't tell us shit because this, whatever this is, wasn't planned. So why don't you stop trying to make Lyra feel like shit, and just tell us what has your panties in a fucking twist."
    I think I'm dead. Yes. I'm dead, and this is me watching my once alive self from out of my body—Uh-huh, I'm definitely having an out of body experience. That is the only explanation for the buzzing and lightness in my head...the only explanation to explain why my self-centered, manwhore of a stepbrother just laid into my dad and subsequently stuck up for me. Oh. My. God. Trent had just told my father off...for me. No...no...I couldn't read too much into this. I couldn't.
    "You and I will settle this later," Stefan suddenly says, spearing Trent with a cold look. His voice is even icier than his expression, and filled with disdain and barely suppressed fury. He slowly moves his eyes back towards me, and it takes everything in me not to flinch under the cold stare his gives me. "I'll excuse you this once, Lyra, since it's becoming clear to me that you were not entirely at fault here, and that I'll need to watch you a bit closer...due to some bad influences that you may be susceptible too," he says this last with a sneer on his face. "Lyra, I want to introduce to you Maksim Stroykenov. Maksim and I have known one another for a long while. When I realized that you had become my responsibility I took it upon myself to contact him..."
    I clench my hands into tight fists, and ignore the quick stab of sharp pain as my nails dig into the tender flesh of my palms. I let my gaze wander over to the imposing man standing just a foot or so away from my father. He's really here. He's really standing here in front of me and smiling...oh my god, he's smiling. Why is he smiling? Is it a good smile? Is it a bad one? What has he heard about me...what has he seen. My insane racing thoughts are interrupted by his deep, beautifully accented voice.
    "Lyra..." Maksim walks forward and takes my stiff, cold hands into his. "I am very very happy to finally meet you." He cocks his head to one side, and his smile widens further. "You are even lovelier in person than you are on film."
    "I...I..." Oh God. Don't freeze up now Lyra. Speak. You have to speak. "Thank you." I finally manage to get out through my tightly closing throat. "I...I'm sorry if I kept you waiting sir," I add, "...I wasn't aware that we were meeting today..."
    Maksim waves his hand carelessly in the air. "Niet. There is nothing to apologize for...your father and I managed to catch up a little while we waited," his eyes look past me and narrow slightly. "...These are you sons, Stefan?" He asks.
    I watch as Stefan stiffens noticeably. "My stepson's yes, two of them."
    Maksim laughs. "Ah yes, how could I forget, you have a whole herd of sons now, don't you?"
    Stefan laughs, but it is a dry and humorless laugh. "Indeed. My wife, Beth, she had four sons from a previous marriage. I seemed to inherit them when we married."
    My eyes widened and I tensed up. Inherited them? What an awful way to see becoming a father to four young boys.
    "Well...it is good that you finally have your daughter under your roof then, no? There is too much..." Maksim seems to think for a moment before continuing, "...male energy...you will do well to have her to soften things up."
    "Yes. Well," Stefan gives a Gaelic shrug, "I had little choice in the matter my friend, as Mira got herself killed driving that death trap I knew would eventually get her. But yes, I suppose it was time that I was reacquainted with Lyra."
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Lyra, you will not hyperventilate. Ignore him. Pretend that you don't hear the words that are coming out of his mouth. He is nothing but a means to an end, soon you'll be of legal age, and you can escape...to where, who knows...but you'll be able to. Ignore him. Ignore him, I chant in my head, trying to keep myself from getting further light-headed and faint.
    "What the actual fuck?!" Trent shouts at Stefan. "This is your goddamn daughter you're fucking talking about as if she's some freaking robot without feelings. What the fuck is wrong with you!"
    "Enough!" Stefan shouts then, even his shout seems icy and perfectly controlled...just like him. "This has nothing to do with you. In fact, I will be speaking with Beth about the driving situation...I am beginning to see that this arrangement may not work out...I will not have Lyra succumb or emulate your degenerate and disrespectful ways." He doesn't even spend a second more looking at them before he turns his back on them, effectively dismissing them. "Come, Lyra, we will continue this down at the rink." I hesitate momentarily, but it's enough for Stefan to pounce. "Are you going to disobey me too? Are you saying you don't wish to speak with Maksim."
    "No," I blurt out, "...I mean, no, I'm not saying that. I'm just...well...I'm not...I didn't...I didn't expect you, sir," I say quietly then, "...I'm afraid I haven't prepared anything, or...well..." I trail off helplessly.
    Maksim smiles widely, displaying perfectly white teeth. "Do not worry, Lyra...I do not want to see anything polished or practiced. I prefer to see you raw, as you will be when you get on the ice momentarily."
    I swallow, biting back my nerves and nod. This is Maksim Stroykenov...I can't say no. I have to do this, for me...for mom. "Uhm, okay, if you're sure," I murmur. "Let me just go up and change into practice clothes...uhm..." I bite my lip, "...may I?"
    Maksim nods, his eyes seem to burn with some hidden emotion I can't quite place. "Of course, little Lyra. We will be right here when you return."
    I nod quickly and take off in a near sprint. God help me, help me please.