Page 2 of The Cutting Edge
With one eye on the clock, I start calling all of the numbers in Poppy’s file, but no one answers. I leave message after message trying to figure out exactly what I should do next.
"Sweetie, does your dad work in an office in this building? What does he do?"
"He works at the ice rink. Like you,” she answers matter-of-factly.
"Do you know which rink? "
She shakes her head no.
“Is he a hot dog salesman?” I ask, half-joking.
Her brow furrows, as though she’s deep in thought. “I don’t think so,” she says.
Well, it's not the answer I was hoping for, but it will have to do if I have any chance of making it out of here in time.
I toss Poppy's skates into her backpack, and sling it over my shoulder.
"Come on Poppy, let's go find your dad."
She hops off of the bleacher seat and reaches up to hold onto my hand. We head towards the exit, my blade covers clomping on the cement floor with every step.
This facility has six skating rinks on multiple floors, so we'll just start with the rink that’s closest and go from there.
Poppy is wearing her sneakers, and I’m speed-walking in my skates. I should have taken them off, but I thought it would save time to just leave them on. My mistake.
Still, she’s having a hard time keeping up with me. I hoist her onto my back which is significantly faster but feels very unsteady.
“Your skates make you sound like a pony,” she whispers into my ear.
“Neighhhh,” I winny back at her.
Rink four is completely dark, and rink five is hosting a juniors’ hockey team.
“Is this where your dad works?" I ask Poppy."No, I don't think so," she says.”
“We head over to rink one, which is the next closest. As I clomp through the arena with Poppy hanging precariously from my back, I contemplate the ridiculousness of numbering ice rinks and then putting them in random order all over the facility. Like, what’s the point of that?
We walk inside rink one and I instantly feel we shouldn't be here. It’s widely known inside the facility that this is the practice facility for the St. Pete Slashers, our city’s professional hockey team – in all of my years of training here, I've never been inside their rink.
“Is this where your dad works?" I ask.
Poppy nods and points toward the center of the rink,
“Yeah, he's right there."
I look in the direction she's pointing and suddenly I hear a large crack like a lightning strike, and a searing pain goes through the side of my head… right before everything goes black.
Chapter two
Coco
Iwakeupdisorientedwith a woman in scrubs, probably a doctor, or maybe a nurse, shining a flashlight in my eyes. I’m in the hospital.
Finally, some good news. Well, sort of. If it’s therighthospital.
The first thing I hear is a strange man’s voice saying worriedly, “Oh, thank God she’s awake.”
“What happened?” I ask. The side of my head hurts like hell, and when I reflexively reach up to touch the tender spot, my fingers find blood-soaked in my hair.
