Page 120 of My Pucked Up Enemy

The rink is almost unrecognizable without the buzz of the crowd, without the sharp bark of whistles and the echo of shouting players. Right now, it’s silent, the overhead lights dimmed to a low glow. The ice gleams like untouched glass.

I sit on the bench, lacing up my skates with hands that aren’t as steady as I’d like to admit. Every second feels stretched, drawn tight like a wire ready to snap.

The door creaks open.

Nina steps inside, carrying her skates in one hand, a worn sweatshirt hanging loose around her frame. Her hair’s pulled back in a messy bun, her eyes shadowed with caution.

"Hey," she says softly, voice carrying across the empty rink.

"Hey."

For a second, neither of us moves.

"Come on. I didn’t sharpen the blades on this fresh sheet of ice for nothing."

She smiles, small and tentative, and walks over to the bench to lace up.

We step onto the ice together. No drills. No pucks. Just the sound of our blades carving lazy lines across the surface. It’s easy and natural, like breathing.

For a long while, we just skate. Side by side. Sometimes close enough that our hands brush. Sometimes drifting apart, then finding each other again. No words. Just movement and air and the sound of our hearts trying to figure this out.

Finally, I break the silence.

"I’m not asking you to stay for me, Nina," I say, my voice low but sure. "I would never ask you to give up something you’ve worked for."

She glances at me, her eyes wide and too bright.

I skate a little ahead of her, then circle back. "I just want you to remember what you’ve built here. What you’ve done. Not just for the team. For you and for me."

She slows, coming to a stop near center ice.

I stop too, a few feet away. Giving her the space she needs.

"I see you, Nina," I say. "Not just the coach. Not just the professional. You."

The silence continues, heavier now.

Her throat works like she’s trying to find the words, but nothing comes out.

I don’t push. I don’t beg.

I just skate backward slowly, letting the distance widen, letting her feel the choice she has to make.

I say quietly, gliding a little closer to her. "Just skating around has always given me a sense of freedom. It's space to breathe and time to think when everything else feels too damn much."

She watches me, saying nothing, but her eyes soften.

I shift my weight, my voice dropping lower. "I thought maybe it could do the same for you. Maybe out here, away from everything, you'd find your answer, whatever it is."

Nina stays still for a second, her gaze locked on mine across the stretch of ice. Then she pushes off, skating toward me with slow, deliberate strides. She stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see the war playing out in her eyes.

"This... this means more than you know," she says, her voice soft, filled with something that sounds like gratitude. "I need this right now. Thank you."

She glances around the empty rink, taking it all in, her skates tracing small, thoughtful circles on the ice.

"Stay because you built something here," I say, my voice steady. "Not just a career. Not just wins. You made a difference, with us and with me. And maybe that's just as big as any promotion. Bigger, even."

She lifts her gaze back to mine, something steady and searching there.

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