ICE FIVE: THE WORLD SAW.
1461 Words
THANE’S POV:
The ice warped beneath me like skating through fog, untethered from my own body. My strides were off. My skates scraped unevenly. The crowd’s roar blurred, distant like it was coming from underwater.
I blinked, hard. Nothing changed.
My vision pulsed at the edges. The rink stretched ahead like a tunnel, too bright, too long. A wave of heat crawled up the back of my neck, followed by a tight, gnawing pressure in my chest. Like someone pressing a brick against my sternum.
My fingers tingled. My forearms turned cold. My mouth was dry, but my skin was damp. I swallowed, barely. I didn’t get it. I’d drank water earlier.
Then my heart kicked up hard. Skipped. Stuttered. Slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
I skated faster, trying to shake it off.
Bad idea.
The boards swam. My vision distorted. The lights flickered. No, not the lights. My brain.
I couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t feel my toes. My knees buckled in warning. I stumbled.
Two pucks. Two nets. Two goalies.
And then came the impact.
I slammed into an opposing player at full speed. My shoulder cracked into his ribs like splitting timber. He flew. His helmet spun off, clattering across the ice. Gasps echoed from every corner of the arena.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
My body wasn’t listening. My skates slipped. The ice spun beneath me. My spine twisted. Something snapped.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through my lower back.
My right skate caught.
I went down.
Hard.
The fall wasn’t graceful. It was brutal. My body slammed against the ice, and I heard it. My foot. It broke like dead wood under a boot. The sound was unmistakable.
And the pain…
God, the pain.
White-hot.
I lay there—my leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath me. Bones grated against each other, sending fresh waves of agony through my body. But the fire in my spine… it eclipsed everything else.
I tried to move. Nothing responded.
A scream built up in me, begging to be let out. And then it came. A raw, bone-deep wail that shredded my throat.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
My lungs emptied. My throat tore open. I didn’t care who was watching. I didn’t care how it looked. I was burning alive.
My chest seized. Muscles locked. My jaw clenched, and I couldn’t draw air. My eyes rolled back. Darkness crept in.
In those hazy seconds, flashes hit me like sparks.
My mom waving my team’s flag, pride glowing in her eyes.
The gold medal around my neck.
The pen trembling in my hand as I signed the contract that changed everything.
It all rushed at me at once.
And then—nothing.
“Thane! Don’t move. Don’t move!”
Skates scraped around me. The crowd’s hush broke with the urgency of medics.
A girl dropped beside me. She was so beautiful with a glistening skin, slim-thick, brown hair tied in a messy knot. Pale face. Worried eyes.
The same medic from before.
“Thane, hey—hey, stay with me. Can you hear me? What hurts?”
Everything.
My body. My pride. My dreams.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even nod. All I could manage was a pitiful groan, ripped from somewhere deep.
Fury. Helplessness. Fear. All of them overwhelmed me.
This was supposed to be my moment. My rise.
But now?
Now I was broken.
***
Light crept in slowly. Like the sun had forgotten me and was only now remembering I existed.
I stirred beneath a mountain of gauze and plastic. A monitor’s dull beep tapped rhythm into the silence.
My body wasn’t mine anymore. It felt heavy. Numb in places I couldn’t name. I tried to move my head. It barely responded, but I managed to turn toward the glow leaking through the window.
There was someone beside me.
A woman.
She stood with her back to me, checking an IV bag, scribbling something on a clipboard. Brown hair in a loose knot. Soft curves under hospital scrubs. She wasn’t a stranger. Not completely.
My throat burned as I pushed out the first word in what felt like forever.
“Where… where am I?”
She froze.
Spun around so fast her pen clattered to the floor.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, blinking like she wasn’t sure I was real. “Are you… you’re actually awake? Are you really—”
I tried to smile. My lips barely twitched. “Hey… I remember you.”
Her name tag read Madison.
That stirred something.
She didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she leaned in, fingers brushing my wrist to check the monitor. Her touch lingered. Just long enough for something to pass between us unspoken, electric.
Then she pulled away like she’d gone too far.
“Sorry,” she whispered. Almost more to herself.
Her eyes darted toward the hallway. “I—I’ll get the doctor.”
And then she was gone, leaving behind a vanilla scent that smelled nice.
Minutes passed or years of me just laying still. I couldn’t tell.
When the doctor walked in, his face was calm, but tight like someone preparing to give a eulogy, not a medical update.
He checked my vitals. Clicked through charts. Flashed a light into my eyes.
“How are you feeling, Thane?”
I blinked. “Like hell.”
He let out a dry chuckle. “That’s fair.”
I swallowed hard. “What am I doing here?”
He glanced at the nurse, then back at me.
“You’ve been in a coma. For a month.”
Everything inside me froze.
A month?
I didn’t move. Didn’t react. My brain couldn’t catch up.
“How?” I croaked.
“Your spine and right foot,” he said gently, “took the worst of it. The damage was severe. And there were… complications after surgery.”
I exhaled, barely. “When… when can I go back?” I paused to catch my breath. “To hockey?”
He hesitated, gaze moving to the monitor. Then he looked me in the eye.
“Thane…”
His voice softened. Like a man lowering his head before delivering a death sentence.
“Right now, your focus should be on walking again.”
He didn’t have to say the rest. But he did.
“Playing professional sports… I’m sorry. You won’t. Even with healing, your mobility won’t fully return. There’s permanent damage. You’ll likely need support to walk—permanently.”
I stared at him.
At the white walls.
The machines.
The tubes.
The wires.
The remnants of me.
Thane Slade. The king of the rink.
Now barely a man.
“Can I… have a moment?” I asked, voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
He nodded, leaving quietly with Madison who seemed hesitant to leave.
I was left in silence. Trying not to allow myself process what I had just been told, I looked for a distraction.
Reaching for the remote, my fingers barely had strength. I fumbled until the screen lit up.
Stanley Cup Finals. A recap.
The universe really had a sense of humor.
I watched.
There it was. My team. The jersey I bled for.
They’d gone ahead. Played without me. Won without me.
The camera panned to the bench. My seat.
Now filled by Aaron Robinson. Helmet off. Hair slicked back. Face beaming.
A bold “C” stitched over his heart.
The crown I’d earned with blood and broken bones—handed off like it never belonged to me.
Barely minutes after I almost died.
The broadcast exploded.
“…phenomenal since stepping in for Slade…”
“…led the team to their first Cup in eight years…”
“…many say he’s the new face of the franchise…”
The remote slipped from my fingers.
He took my place.
He was me now.
And the world…
Didn’t care if I lived or died.
I changed the channel. Same story. Same face.
No one even mentioned me.
How did they move on so fast?
My chest heaved. Rage boiling in my throat. My fingers curled into weak fists under the blanket.
The door swung open, snapping me out of my rage. I turned, my chest heaving.
My mom rushed in, eyes wide with relief and worry. My brother followed, nodding, his smile forced.
But it was my father’s entrance that made my stomach twist.
He didn’t look relieved. Or even proud.
He looked furious.
I waited. Waited for his voice to break. For his eyes to soften.
For him to say, “Thank God you’re alive.”
Instead, his fist slammed into my jaw.
Pain flared white behind my eyes.
“Why did you do it?” he growled. His eyes bore into mine.
- Writer
