Page 17 of Jesse and the Ice Princess
He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt before grabbing his sweatshirt off the back of the desk chair. They lived in Florida, but it was still January.
"Later Cass," he called on his way down the stairs.
She didn't respond, but before he reached the bottom, he heard her reading Harry Potter to the boys. He smiled at that.
Poking his head into his dad's office, he waved, not wanting to interrupt his dad's phone call.
His dad put his hand over the receiver. “You going out?”
“Yeah, Cass is putting the boys to bed.”
He nodded. “You’ll be safe?”
“Of course. I won’t be late.” He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and turned away.
Once outside, he slid into his Jeep Wrangler and checked the back seat to make sure his hockey bag was still there.
He loved the drive to the arena. For half the way, the ocean sparkled on his right. Large houses obscured the beach from view, but once he reached the public beach, he saw the moonlight dancing off the waves.
There was no better town to live in. Perfect winters. Summers at the beach. A hockey arena that was only five years old.
He hung his arm out the window, breathing in the salty air. The cool January evening washed over him. Friday nights at the arena were the best. They closed the doors around nine—after their public skate.
Coach and Mrs. Morrison never stayed long after that.
By ten, the place was deserted.
Only a few cars sat in the parking lot, and at first, he assumed they belonged to guys from the team who'd gotten there before him. But no one lingered near the door and only he had the key.
Hiking his hockey bag up farther on his shoulder, he glanced around, but only the night greeted him. With a shrug, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. The entryway was dark save for emergency lights near the floor.
He always enjoyed the rink when no one else was around. The front desk and halls sat empty, quiet. He turned into the back hallway that would take him to the locker room and flipped on a light to guide his path.
Inside the locker room, everything was as it should be. The team didn't keep their gear in their lockers because they weren't the only ones using the room. As the light flickered on, he took in the Hurricane's logo in the middle of the stiff carpeted floor. Team lore said it was bad luck to walk across the blue and white swirling emblem that represented a giant storm.
But random strangers entered this room every day with no care for the superstitions of the town's hockey team.
Then again, they also never won games. Coincidence? Or magic? He laughed to himself. Roman was the superstitious one. He always taped his stick a certain way and put his right skate on before his left.
Jesse sat in an empty stall and unzipped his bag. Coach let them use the rink as long as Jesse was there—for some reason, he was the trusted guy, the captain—but there were rules he set out. No hitting. He didn't want his players risking injury on a stupid Friday night tradition.
He said the skaters didn't have to wear pads, but the goalie must.
Reasonable.
Jesse didn't want to disappoint his coach by letting it get out of hand. He wondered if Coach allowed them to use the rink only as a way to keep them out of other Friday night shenanigans. Sure, some guys would go from the game to one of the many parties happening all the time in Gulf City.
But Jesse always went home after. He didn't quite understand how he was so popular when he scorned the party scene. Roman sometimes dragged him out to a bonfire on the beach, but that wasn't where Jesse belonged.
Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he checked the time. The guys would arrive in a half hour or so. He was always early, wanting to skate a few laps by himself, soaking in the peace, before his team arrived, turning up the volume quite a bit.
He dropped his phone into the bag and pulled on his skates, lacing them tight. Sliding his sweatshirt over his head, he pulled it down. He'd take it off when the game started and he was dripping in sweat.
Kicking his bag under the bench, he walked into the tunnel that led to the ice. Before the gleaming sheet of perfection came into view, Jesse heard the unmistakable sound of a hockey stick tapping against the ice.
"It's not fair playing with you." He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Hadley Gibson. Back in ninth grade, he'd wanted to be anywhere she was, but she always seemed out of his league. Just like the girl skating with her. His crush on Hadley was long over, but…
Jesse's eyes zeroed in on Charlotte Morrison as she zoomed down the ice, probably faster than any of the guys on his team.
