The Perfect Glide

VII : HOCKEY'S HOTSPOT

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Happy reading......🥰

"Somewhere between the chaos of the rink and the silence of the heart, we learn how to breathe again."

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The cold air greeted me like an old rival-sharp, testing, but familiar. Every breath I took clouded before my face, each exhale mingling with the faint hum of skate blades carving into ice. The rink had always been my sanctuary, but lately, it felt like a question I didn't know how to answer.

Coach's words from yesterday still echoed in my mind. "You've got the skill, Lexi, but you're missing the fire. You can't glide your way through emotion." I'd smiled, nodded, pretended I understood-but inside, I was unraveling.

Because I did have fire. It just burned too quietly for anyone else to see.

The ice stretched before me like a mirror, capturing the reflection of the girl I'd become. Not the perfect skater with flawless spins and steady footing, but the one hiding cracks beneath her composure. The one afraid that maybe, just maybe, the applause didn't mean she was enough.

I stepped onto the rink, the blade slicing a clean arc into the surface. The sound steadied me. There was power in motion, in the glide, in the wind against my skin. I pushed forward, letting the music in my earbuds take over-soft piano keys swelling into rhythm.

Spin. Jump. Land.

Again.

And again.

Each movement a plea to feel something more than the ache of repetition.

I thought I was alone-until the echo of laughter drifted from the other side of the rink.

Not just any laughter. His.

Ryder.

Of course.

I stopped mid-glide and turned toward the sound. Across the ice, a group of hockey players were gathered near the goalposts, tossing pucks back and forth, the sharp clack of sticks breaking the rhythm of my solitude. And right in the middle-grinning, confident, infuriatingly composed-was Ryder.

His team practiced early mornings sometimes, but they usually stayed on the far rink. Today, apparently, he'd decided to invade mine.

I skated toward him, arms crossed, chin lifted. "You do know this isn't your side, right?"

He turned, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "Morning to you too, Ice Queen."

I groaned. "Do you ever stop calling me that?"

"Not when it annoys you this much."

I fought a smile. "I'm serious, Ryder. Coach doesn't want hockey pucks flying across the figure rink."

He gestured toward his teammates. "We're just warming up. Relax."

"Relax?" I repeated, incredulous. "Last time you said that, I almost tripped over your gear bag."

He chuckled. "Yeah, but you didn't. You pirouetted over it like it was part of your routine. Should've gotten extra points for style."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the corner of my mouth from lifting. "You're impossible."

He shrugged. "So I've been told."

The other players snickered behind him, and I suddenly felt the faintest flush creep into my cheeks. Not because of embarrassment, but because Ryder's attention-his easy, unwavering attention-had this strange way of making the world narrow to just us.

I skated backward a little, folding my arms. "Just don't get in my way."

He tilted his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

But the gleam in his eyes told me otherwise.

Ten minutes later, I was deep into my practice again. The music had shifted to something faster, sharper. My body moved without thought-glide, leap, spin-when suddenly a black puck shot across the rink, slicing through my line like a comet.

It missed my skate by an inch.

"Ryder!" I shouted, the word echoing through the empty seats.

He froze mid-laugh, stick in hand, eyes widening. "That-uh-that wasn't supposed to happen."

I skated straight toward him, anger pulsing like heat beneath my ribs. "You nearly killed my routine!"

He lifted both hands in surrender, grinning sheepishly. "I swear, I didn't mean to. The puck just-"

"-flew across the rink by itself?"

He winced. "Maybe it got jealous of your spins."

I glared at him, but my anger was already faltering under the weight of his ridiculous smile. "You're lucky I'm too tired to fight right now."

"Or maybe you're secretly impressed I got that much power behind a shot."

"Impressed?" I huffed, turning away. "You're unbelievable."

"I prefer memorable," he called out.

I didn't answer. I couldn't-not with my heart beating too fast and my focus scattering like shards of ice.

He had that effect on me. He wasn't supposed to, but he did.

As I reset my music and took position again, I heard him skating closer. The sound of his blades scraping across the ice filled the quiet between us.

"Hey," he said softly.

I ignored him.

"Come on, Lexi. Don't freeze me out."

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "Pun intended?"

He grinned. "Always."

I sighed. "What do you want?"

"To say sorry," he said, surprisingly genuine this time. "I shouldn't have been so close to your lane. Won't happen again."

His tone softened something in me. He meant it.

I nodded once. "Okay. Apology accepted."

"Good," he said, skating backward, that smug smile returning. "Because next time, I'm aiming for a perfect assist."

My jaw dropped. "You wouldn't dare-"

He shot off before I could finish, laughing all the way to the far side of the rink.

I stayed where I was for a moment, letting the sound of his laughter fade into the cold. And though I'd never admit it out loud, something in me missed it when it did.

For months, the rink had been a place of solitude-structured, strict, safe. But with Ryder around, it felt alive again.

Annoying, unpredictable, impossible to control-but alive.

I didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Maybe it didn't matter.

All I knew was that for the first time in a long time, skating didn't feel like a routine.

It felt like a heartbeat.

The next morning, I arrived early. Too early. The rink lights hadn't even flickered to full brightness yet, and the air was still heavy with that clean, frozen quiet that only existed before sunrise.

I told myself I needed the extra practice. But if I was being honest, a part of me just didn't want a repeat of yesterday.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Because another, smaller part of me-the part I didn't like to listen to-wondered if he'd show up again.

I stretched by the edge of the rink, sliding one leg onto the barrier, focusing on my balance. Coach always said the best skaters weren't the ones who fell the least-they were the ones who knew how to recover. Lately, that lesson felt heavier than it used to.

My reflection stared back from the ice-eyes tired, hair tucked into a loose bun, expression unreadable. For years, I'd been the definition of control. Precision. Perfection. But something about Ryder's chaotic energy had shaken that calm.

It terrified me how easily he made me forget the world I'd built to protect myself.

"Thinking about me?"

I nearly jumped.

Ryder stood at the entrance to the rink, holding his hockey stick like it was an extension of himself. His grin was easy, but his eyes-warm, alert, and sharp-caught everything.

"You really need to stop sneaking up on me," I said, rolling my eyes even as my pulse sped up.

"Hey, I knocked," he said, gesturing at the door. "You were too deep in thought to hear it. I didn't want to ruin your... intense pre-skate meditation."

"Very funny," I muttered. "Don't you have your own practice?"

He shrugged. "Not till later. Figured I'd come see if the Ice Queen was still mad about yesterday's puck incident."

"I wasn't mad."

He raised an eyebrow. "You yelled my name like you were about to throw your skate at me."

"Okay, slightly mad."

Ryder laughed, that low, warm sound that seemed to thaw the edges of the cold air around us. "I'll take that as progress."

He dropped his bag on the bench and stepped onto the ice, gliding effortlessly. Even in a relaxed stance, his movements carried power-strong, steady, and undeniably confident.

I followed him without meaning to.

"Ever think about switching to figure skating?" I asked, watching him circle around me.

He grinned. "Nah. Too much sparkle, not enough body checks."

"You'd look great in sequins."

He placed a hand dramatically on his chest. "Are you flirting with me, Thompson?"

I smirked. "Please. You'd know if I were."

He laughed again, skating closer-close enough that the air between us felt charged. "Then I'll keep waiting."

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. He didn't break eye contact, and I didn't look away.

Then I spun out of reach, my blades cutting the ice like punctuation. "You'll be waiting a long time, Ryder."

His laughter followed me as I picked up speed, the rhythm of it weaving into the sound of my skates.

Ten minutes later, we fell into something unexpected-a shared rhythm.

He wasn't trying to show off, and I wasn't trying to outshine him. We just... moved. Him with his stick, practicing quick footwork and turns; me gliding between jumps and spins, our paths occasionally crossing like two worlds learning to coexist.

At one point, I caught him watching me-really watching me. Not like the others did, measuring performance or perfection, but as though he was seeing the person beneath the choreography.

"What?" I asked, breathless.

He leaned on his stick. "You make it look easy."

"It's not," I said softly. "None of it is."

He nodded, his expression shifting. "Yeah. I get that."

For a moment, the world quieted. No laughter, no teasing-just two people standing on ice, sharing a silence that felt like understanding.

Then he grinned again, breaking the spell. "You know what your problem is?"

"Oh no," I groaned. "Here we go."

"You don't know how to have fun when you skate."

I frowned. "Skating is fun."

"Yeah, but you treat it like war."

"Discipline," I corrected. "It's called discipline."

He tapped the side of his helmet. "You ever try dancing on ice without overthinking every step?"

I hesitated. "You mean... freestyle?"

He nodded. "No music. No plan. Just move."

"That's not skating," I protested. "That's chaos."

"Exactly."

And before I could argue, he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.

"Ryder-!"

"Trust me!" he said, spinning me halfway across the rink.

I stumbled once, twice-then laughed despite myself. The movement was wild, unstructured, the exact opposite of everything I'd trained for. But somehow, it worked.

Ryder moved around me in fast circles, his momentum pushing me to loosen up. We nearly collided once, both laughing breathlessly. My hair fell loose from its tie, and the sound that left my lips wasn't rehearsed-it was real.

"See?" he called. "You're not made of ice after all!"

I spun once, almost effortlessly, landing with a glide that left frost swirling behind me. "Don't get too confident," I warned. "I could still out-skate you any day."

He grinned. "Prove it."

Challenge. That word always hit home.

Without thinking, I launched into motion-a blur of silver blades and white breath. I picked up speed, cutting lines through the rink, pushing harder, higher. When I landed a clean triple spin, the sound of my skate's contact echoed sharp and satisfying.

I turned toward him, triumphant. "Beat that."

Ryder skated closer, stopping right in front of me, close enough that I could see the shimmer of melted frost on his jaw. "You're incredible, you know that?"

The compliment caught me off guard. "That's-uh-new."

He smiled faintly. "You don't hear it enough."

The air between us thickened again-warm, quiet, charged.

"I-" I started, but the words tangled somewhere between my chest and my throat.

He stepped back slightly, breaking the moment with an easy smirk. "So... hot chocolate after this? Or are you too busy perfecting your next triple spin?"

I exhaled, the corner of my mouth curving upward. "You're relentless."

"And you secretly like it."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Oh, I will."

We skated until the lights dimmed and the chill finally bit through our gloves. And even as we parted ways outside the rink, I could still feel the echo of his laughter following me-bright, impossible to ignore, melting something I didn't know was frozen.

The evening air outside the rink bit at my cheeks as I stepped out, my skates slung over one shoulder and my hair still damp from melting frost. The streets were quieter than usual-just the steady hum of distant traffic and the soft glow of the lampposts catching on snowflakes.

Ryder was already waiting by the entrance, leaning casually against the railing, a paper cup in each hand. His hair was messy, damp from practice, and his hoodie looked far too thin for the weather. Still, he seemed perfectly at ease, as if the cold never bothered him.

He looked up when he saw me and grinned. "You took your time."

"I had to stretch." I nodded at the cups. "One of those for me?"

"Depends. Are you still mad about yesterday's puck?"

I gave him a look. "Ryder."

He laughed, handing one over. "Alright, alright. Peace offering. Extra whipped cream."

I took it, hiding the tiny smile threatening to escape. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," he said. "It's the only time you ever looked impressed with me."

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip. The hot chocolate was rich and sweet, the kind of warmth that lingered. For a moment, the silence between us wasn't awkward-it was easy. Comfortable, even.

"So," he said after a beat, "Coach told me your next showcase is coming up."

"Yeah." I stared into the cup. "Next month."

He nodded. "You ready?"

I hesitated. "Physically? Probably. Mentally? Not even close."

He frowned, straightening. "What do you mean?"

I sighed. "It's not about the skating anymore. It's about... everything else. Expectations. Pressure. The fear that one mistake could erase everything I've worked for."

He leaned on the railing beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. "You ever think maybe you're scared because it matters to you?"

I looked up at him. "Isn't that the point? To make it matter?"

He smiled faintly. "Yeah. But not if it crushes you."

For a moment, I didn't say anything. The words hit deeper than I wanted them to. I'd spent years chasing perfection-every spin, every jump, every breath on ice had to be flawless. But Ryder had this unnerving ability to remind me that maybe perfection wasn't what I needed anymore.

"Do you ever feel like that?" I asked softly.

He nodded, eyes on the distant snow. "Every game. Every time I miss a goal, every time I screw up a play. Everyone thinks I'm this easygoing guy, but..." He shrugged. "It's not that simple. You start thinking that one mistake defines you. And then, even when you win, it doesn't feel like winning."

I studied him for a long moment. Beneath the grin, the jokes, the charm-he was just as uncertain as I was. Maybe that's why he understood me better than most.

"Guess we're both a mess," I said quietly.

He laughed under his breath. "The best kind."

We stood there in the fading light, the quiet stretching between us like a thread neither of us wanted to cut.

Then, slowly, Ryder said, "You know what I think?"

I turned to him. "What?"

"You spend so much time trying to control everything that you forget what made you love it in the first place."

He stepped closer, his voice low. "You said once that skating feels like flying. When was the last time you let yourself just... fly?"

I looked down, unable to answer.

"That's what I thought," he murmured.

There wasn't any teasing in his tone this time-just something honest. Something raw.

And maybe it was the cold, or the way his words echoed in my chest, but I found myself saying quietly, "Maybe I don't know how to, anymore."

Ryder's expression softened. "Then maybe you just need someone to remind you."

He took a step closer. Too close. His breath mingled with mine, warm against the chill. My heart stuttered, my pulse thrumming somewhere between fear and something dangerously close to hope.

"Ryder..."

He smiled, but it wasn't his usual grin. It was quieter, softer. "Relax, Thompson. I'm not gonna kiss you."

I blinked. "You're not?"

He chuckled. "Not tonight, anyway."

I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Probably both.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "But I'll make you a deal. You teach me how to spin like that, and I'll show you how to let go. Deal?"

I hesitated for half a second before smiling. "Deal."

"Good." He started walking backward, hands in his pockets. "Tomorrow. Same time. Don't be late, Ice Queen."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Never!" he called over his shoulder, his laughter echoing through the empty street.

I watched him go, my fingers still wrapped around the warmth of the cup.

The night settled around me, soft and cold, but something inside me wasn't frozen anymore. For the first time in a long time, the thought of skating didn't feel like pressure-it felt like promise.

Maybe chaos wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Maybe it was exactly what I needed.

The next morning, when I stepped onto the rink again, it felt different.

Lighter.

Alive.

And though I didn't see him right away, I could already hear Ryder's voice in my head-teasing, warm, impossible to ignore.

"Let go, Thompson. Don't think. Just fly."

So I did.

I pushed off, blade meeting ice, breath sharp and clear, heart thundering with something new.

And for the first time in years, I didn't chase perfection.

I chased freedom..........

* * * * * * * * * *

"Maybe perfection isn't the goal; maybe the real triumph is finding someone who makes you believe in the impossible again."

Hmm. No kisses😊 Let there be innocence people😅 . so that was good and i hope you liked it. Why would she want a kiss?🤔 Well we'll find out later anyways. What if Ryder sibling zone's her, omg, this is......, but since he said not yet , lets be.......I talk too much, i know😉😘

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