Trust

Chapter Two

    Pulling into the first parking space I could see, I shut off the engine and clambered out of my truck, reaching into the backseat for my bag and sticks. SLinging them over either shoulder and slamming my door shut, I walked into my hockey practice, my team of men sitting in the lobby clearly upset, creating a disgruntled din in the small lobby. Looking for some semblance of clarity over the noisy players milling about, I looked for my coach. Catching his eye, Coach Watson raised his voice above the louder sounds around us,"The ice is being occupied, for the next 30 minutes at max. So we will wait." Several groans from my teammates were heard, along with the occasional curse. Paying the profanity no mind, Watson waved his hand to the door leading into the seats positioned around the ice rink.

   I took my seat somewhat angrily, clattering my sticks and gear down onto the space next to me. I mean, I freak out because I'm late and now I have extra time? Go figure. I reach towards my pocket, seeking out the familiar form of my phone and in turn looking forward to scrolling through Reddit or looking up highlights from last night's Coyotes' game. Oh shit, of course i forgot the damn thing at home. My hand travelled from pocket to pocket, trying to deny the fact and hoping the phone would materialize in my hand. I sighed and slumped down in my cold arena seat, accepting boredom for the time being.

  Well, maybe whatever caused the delay on the ice would hold my attention for the next half hour or so. Lowering my gaze to the ice below made me realize just how wrong I was. Of fucking course, Figure skaters, like pussies of the ice. I chuckled at the sight of them in their costumes with some of my nearby teammates and passed quite a few derisive comments between us, mainly centered on the fact that we would be having practice later due to these divas on skates.

  The arena's intercom crackled to life; the announcements were so much louder than a hockey game. "Now, Representing Victor Plasit Of Russia, Misha Lockheart, fifteen years old. Five foot six." I gazed down again absentmindedly at the MC's words. There was a woman, Oddly Familiar, Slight blue hair, pale skin. She wore a beautiful red and black dress and white figure skates. The dress she wore complimented her lean figure, the sway of her skirt showing off her coltish legs. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun. Her face, covered in makeup, shone under the cold glare of the lights in the rink. Her eyes were smoky and smoldering, holding an intense concentration for her upcoming routine. The gold glitter in her blush glinted in the light. The way she slid onto the ice, so gracefully, like she had been there for hours doing just that. Different than the strides of a hockey player, she moved much more deliberately, much more beautifully.

  Again the man spoke, "National winner of last year's Ice skating debut, Misha is coached by Victor Plasit, Perhaps one of the bests, but can she live up to his title?" Now I get it, I can tell by her hair, I think that's the chick who moved in nextdoor. She glided around the ice before Going to a tall black haired man who stood in one of the two penalty boxes. He cupped his hands around her face and she pushed off. Taking her place in the middle of the ice rink. As the chosen music began to flood the speakers, she... I don't quite know, she just kinda flew around the ice, spinning, doing flips, spins, it was beautiful. Her movement mesmerizing, I lost myself in her performance. The music played, and she gave it a more than worthy visual aid with her graceful movements.