Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Three [Liam]

"No, no, no, no — Nej!"

I secure Chloe with my hands around her hips so she doesn't land flat on her face.

"You're doing it wrong. Do it right!"

I flash Helga a wry smile at her firm yet imprecise instruction. Our skating coach leans into the rink boards, tiny pale hands resting on the rink topper as the straight line of her spine seems to stretch from her lower back all the way up to the tip of her perfectly round, translucent-blonde bun.

Chloe and I skate back to get some distance for momentum and repeat the lift we just fucked up. Just as her feet take off the ice, a round of cheers and general tumult erupts from the hockey rink behind us.

I am distracted by the noise, going as stupidly far as to try a look over my shoulder, which destabilizes our balance once again. If Chloe didn't trust me to catch her by now, we would've both tumbled to the ground, but I steady her in time. There isn't a single hint of gratitude on her face, though, and I guess that's fair — she was only at risk of falling in the first place because of me, after all.

"You're picking the girl up like she's a potato sac. You're supposed to pick her up like a beautiful princess. Light, pretty, delicate," Helga scolds, hands flailing emphatically at her sides. "Do it again, do it right."

As Chloe and I move back to our pre-lift positions, I take the opportunity to maneuver myself in a way I can get a glimpse of the hockey rink. It takes me only a couple of seconds to find the number I want on the dozens of moving jerseys on the ice.

While it's not uncommon for our rink to be busy at early hours of the day, the hockey team tends to have their practices after school. Guess they decided to start strong this year, though. 

Their coach — a big, burly man balding at an alarming speed for his early forties — doesn't seem too used or too happy to be up and working before seven. Helga would let out one of her Helga-typical disapproving sniffs if I pointed it out to her. According to her, in her country, 'we started at five in the morning and finished at six in the night'.

At first, I thought she was from a place like Poland, or the old Soviet Union. Turns out she's from Sweden. They just rise early there, I guess.

On the hockey rink, Eli approaches the rink boards with his buddies at his sides. Big Coach looks down at the clipboard, while a blonde bearded man in a baseball cap — the assistant coach — tells them something and the three of them nod in agreement.

"I'm over here," Chloe speaks under her breath, drawing my attention back to her. There's a mordant glint in her eyes as she smiles at me. "Looking at me might help you not drop me."

I roll my eyes. Message received. With all unnecessary sass and everything.

We repeat the same lift we've done countless times before, in previous practices. This time, she lands on her feet in front of me and we finish the sequence in synchrony. It's clean and technically correct, but too mechanic. Almost smooth, but still with a clunky aftertaste to it. Helga won't like that.

"Nej. It's still wrong." 

Called it.

"Fel, fel, fel." She sniffs. "You pay me to train you, but you're not focused. I cannot train you when you're not focused." Helga's thin mouth purses into a barely-there little pucker of red lipstick, sniffing again.

I sigh under the weight of Chloe's pointed look, which feels a little too passive-aggressive if I'm allowed to say so.

"I'm focused, Helga. We'll do it again."