The Hockey Captain’s Secret Ice Princess

Maya’s POV My alarm went off at 6:10 in the morning, and for a few seconds, I pretended not to hear it, keeping my eyes closed while I pulled the blanket higher over my head, hoping that maybe I could steal another hour of sleep before the day started, but my phone kept buzzing beside my bed until I finally reached out and turned it off. I stayed in bed for another minute, staring at the ceiling, already thinking about everything I had to do that day, my morning lecture, my shift at the café, the assignment I had not finished, the bills that were waiting at home, and if I was lucky, a few hours at the rink later that night. The last thought made me smile. Skating was the only part of my day that never felt like work. I finally got out of bed and looked toward the other side of the room, where Iris was still completely buried under her blanket, sleeping as if she had no problems in the world. “I hate you,” I muttered. She did not move. I picked up my pillow and threw it at her. It landed somewhere near her feet, and she made a tired sound before pulling the blanket over her head. “Leave me alone, Maya.” “You’re sleeping through your alarm again.” “I don’t have an alarm.” “You used mine.” “That sounds like a you problem.” I laughed quietly as I walked toward the bathroom, because this was normal for us, Iris could sleep through almost anything, while I had somehow become the person who woke up before the sun and spent most of my mornings worrying about things that could wait until later. Our apartment was small, but I had stopped complaining about it a long time ago, the kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in at once, the heater made strange noises during the colder months, and one of the bedroom windows refused to close properly, but it was affordable, and affordable was what mattered to me. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, tied my hair back, then changed into a simple sweater and jeans, checking my reflection quickly before grabbing my backpack. I did not care much about looking perfect for class, I had learned a long time ago that when you were trying to balance school, work, and family, there was no point spending an hour deciding what to wear. I walked into the kitchen and found Asher already sitting at the table. He had a laptop open in front of him, his hockey jacket hanging over the back of his chair, and a half-finished bowl of cereal sitting beside him. “You’re awake,” he said. “So are you.” “I have practice.” “You always have practice.” “That is because I’m going to become a professional.” I opened the refrigerator and looked inside, hoping to find something worth eating, but there was not much there, just some eggs, half a carton of milk, and a container of leftovers that I was pretty sure had been sitting there long enough to become dangerous. “You should eat something proper,” I said. He looked at me. “You sound like Mom.” My hand stopped on the refrigerator door. Neither of us said anything for a moment. Asher looked down at his laptop. “Sorry.” “It’s fine.” I closed the refrigerator. I had heard that name in my head so many times that sometimes it barely hurt anymore, but there were still moments when something small, something completely innocent, could bring everything back. My mother had disappeared when I was eight. For years, I had believed the story everyone gave me, that she had left because she wanted a different life, that she had made a choice and never looked back, and even though I hated that explanation, it was easier to accept than wondering whether something terrible had happened to her. Asher was younger than me, so he remembered even less. I had always tried to protect him from the questions that kept me awake at night. “You’re working today?” he asked. “Both jobs.” He frowned. “Maya.” “What?” “You can’t keep doing this.” “I can.” “You have classes.” “I know.” “You have exams coming.” “I know.” “And you barely sleep.” “I sleep.” He raised an eyebrow. “Four hours is not sleep.” “It counts.” “It doesn’t.” I grabbed an apple from the counter and put it inside my bag. “Asher, I need the money.” “I can help.” “You already help.” “Not enough.” I turned toward him. He looked serious, and I knew exactly where this conversation was going. “You have your own expenses,” I said. “I’ll manage.” “You need to focus on hockey.” “I am focusing on hockey.” “Then focus on it.” He sighed, then closed his laptop. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything, and I knew he was not happy with my answer, but eventually he stood and picked up his bag. Asher had always been stubborn, but he was also one of the few people in the world I trusted completely. He was my little brother, but sometimes he acted like he was the older one. “You’re coming home tonight, right?” he asked. “Of course.” “Don’t stay out too late.” “I have work.” “I know.” “Then why are you asking?” He hesitated. “I don’t know, just be careful.” I smiled. “Since when did you become my father?” “Since you started making terrible decisions.” “I make excellent decisions.” “You secretly go skating in an abandoned building.” I froze. Asher looked at me. I tried to keep my face calm. “You don’t know that.” He laughed. “You’re terrible at lying.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure.” His phone started ringing before he could say anything else, and when he looked at the screen, his expression changed slightly. “It’s Arman.” I immediately looked away. I hated how easily his name could make me uncomfortable. Arman Morales had been Asher’s best friend for years, and because of that, he had been around my family for most of my life, birthdays, holidays, hockey games, family dinners, random afternoons when Asher brought him home after practice. He was twenty now, captain of the university hockey team, and everyone seemed to know his name. He came from the kind of family people talked about, the Morales family owned businesses, properties, and things I could not even begin to understand, but Arman had never treated me badly. That almost made things worse. It would have been easier if he were arrogant. Instead, he was usually polite, calm, and annoyingly hard to ignore. Asher answered the call. “What’s up?” I picked up my backpack and pretended not to listen. A few seconds later, Asher laughed. “You’re already at the sports center?” He glanced at me. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call and grabbed his jacket. “I have to go.” “Okay.” He opened the door, then stopped. “Maya.” “What?” “Seriously, be careful tonight.” I looked at him. “Why?” “I don’t know.” “That makes no sense.” “I know.” He left before I could ask anything else. I stood there for a moment, wondering what that was about, then decided not to think about it, because I already had enough things on my mind. The walk to campus was cold, but the morning was bright, and New York was already busy, cars moved through the streets, people hurried toward buses and trains, students walked in groups, and the coffee shops were filling up with customers who looked like they had somewhere important to be. I liked mornings like that. There was something comforting about seeing everyone rushing through their own lives, because it reminded me that I was not the only person trying to figure things out. I reached campus a few minutes before my lecture started, found my seat, pulled out my notebook, and tried to focus. For the next hour, everything was normal. That was exactly how I wanted it. I took notes, answered a few questions, and tried not to think about money, my mother’s disappearance, or the skating routine I had been practicing for months. When the lecture ended, I met Iris outside. She had somehow managed to look completely awake despite sleeping through half the morning. “You look tired,” she said. “I am tired.” “You need to sleep more.” “You sound like Asher.” “Maybe Asher is right.” “Don’t encourage him.” She laughed as we walked toward the cafeteria. We were halfway there when she suddenly looked at me. “Are you going to the rink tonight?” I glanced at her. “Maybe.” “You always say maybe.” “Because I haven’t decided.” “You decided yesterday.” “I changed my mind.” She gave me a suspicious look. I ignored her. The truth was, I had already decided. I was going. I always went. The rink had become part of my life in a way I could not explain, even though I had no idea who owned the place or why I was allowed to use it, I had been practicing there for almost three years, and nobody had ever asked me to leave. The first time I found it, I thought it was abandoned. The building looked old, the parking lot was almost always empty, and the place was hidden far enough from the main road that most people probably did not even know it existed. But when I entered that first night, the lights were on. The ice was clean. And someone had left a pair of skates on the bench. I had met an older man there that night, and when I asked if the rink was open, he simply told me I could use it whenever I wanted. He never asked for money. He never asked where I lived. He never asked why a broke college student wanted to practice figure skating late at night. I had decided not to question it. Sometimes, when life gives you one good thing, you learn not to ask too many questions. My classes continued through the afternoon, then I went to my first job, where I spent several hours serving coffee and cleaning tables, before heading to the bookstore for my evening shift. By the time I finished, it was after ten. I should have gone home. I knew that. Instead, I changed my direction and headed toward the rink. The streets were quieter than they had been earlier, and the colder air made me pull my jacket tighter around myself. When I reached the building, I noticed something strange. The gate was open. I stopped. It was never open this late. I looked around the parking lot. There were no cars. No people. Nothing. I almost turned around. Then I saw the lights inside the rink. They were on. I walked toward the entrance. “Hello?” No answer. I opened the door. The building was quiet, just like always. I stepped inside and looked toward the ice. Everything appeared normal. For some reason, I felt relieved. I put my bag down, changed into my skates, then stepped onto the ice. The moment my blades touched the surface, the tension I had been carrying all day began to disappear. This was the one place where I could breathe. I started slowly, warming up before moving into the routine I had been practicing. A turn. A jump. A landing. Then another. I knew I was not ready for a professional competition, but I also knew I was improving, and sometimes I imagined what it would feel like to skate in front of thousands of people, wearing a proper costume, hearing my name announced, knowing that I had finally made it. It was only a dream. But it was mine. I was halfway through my routine when I heard a sound. I stopped. Something had moved near the entrance. I looked over. Nothing. I waited. The rink was quiet again. I shook my head and continued skating. A few seconds later, I heard it again. This time, it came from above me. I looked toward the roof. Nothing. Then a voice spoke. “Maya.” My body went still. I knew that voice. I had heard it before. Not recently. Not in the real world. In my dreams. It was the voice of a boy. A young boy. I had been hearing it since I was a child, always saying my name, always telling me not to be afraid, but whenever I woke up, I could never remember his face. I looked around the empty rink. “Who’s there?” No answer. Then I heard footsteps. They were coming from the entrance. I slowly turned. A man was standing in the doorway. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. A hockey bag hanging from one hand. My heart skipped. I knew him immediately. Arman. He looked at me for several seconds without saying anything, and for the first time since I had known him, I saw something in his face that I could not understand. He looked confused. Almost like he had walked into the rink expecting to find someone else. Then his eyes moved to the ice beneath my feet. His expression changed. “Maya,” he said quietly. I took a step back. “What are you doing here?” He did not answer. Instead, he looked at me like he was trying to remember something. Then, from somewhere above us, came another loud sound. Arman turned toward the roof. I looked up too. For a few seconds, neither of us moved. Then something landed on the other side of the building. The sound was heavy enough to make me step backward. Arman immediately moved closer to the ice. “Get off the rink,” he said. His voice was different now. Serious. I stared at him. “Why?” He looked toward the dark hallway behind him. “I don’t know yet.” And somehow, that answer scared me more than anything else could have.