Galen

"What kind of a half-assed rink rat are you?" Jackson whines, and I can say, in all honesty, that I miss Kyle a lot less now.

Being a pain in the arse is apparently a Mwangi family trait. This guy hasn't shut up for three seconds since I lay down on my bed. He wants to show me the ice arena and I would be all in under normal circumstances.

Under normal circumstances, I'm not jet lagged and exhausted after being awake for more than 48 hours. I couldn't sleep on either of the flights, and I had to be awake on the train, or I would miss my stop.

"The kind that's gonna kick ye out the window if ye don't dry yer arse," I grumble, turning on my side to glare at him, tucking the pillow into a bundle under my head.

"That's not very roommate-like of you," he tells me, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Besides, my ass is quite dry, thank you."

I chuckle and, pulling my hand from under the pillow, I roll onto my back, flinging an arm over my tired eyes and hitting myself in the face with something that managed to come with my hand. Underpants?

"Why the hell were your skivvies under me pillow?" I growl, tossing the garment at him.

"They're supposed to be special touches to make it more authentic that I've claimed both beds... or something like that," he tells me, laughing loudly from his belly. "Who knows? Don't worry, they're clean... uhm... you might find some socks in there somewhere too.

"Ye're effin' mental," I huff, too tired to bother to search for his socks now. Well, as long as they're clean, I'll survive. I've shared spaces with enough friends to take things in my stride... and my brother is the biggest slob on Earth.

Still, this guy is a bleeding weirdo.

"Yeah, I'm the mental one," he chuckles, and now I'm not even sure what he means. I've done nothing strange since I met him... I might later, but I haven't yet. "Come on, the ice is calling."

"It will still be there tomorrow, won't it?" I groan, putting my arm over my face with more success this time. "And that's our day off."

"Fine, I'll leave you in peace and just curl up here with my bunny and wallow in my disappointment," the yoke sulks with a long, loud sigh. I swear, I liked him better when I thought he was a bully.

"You're such a drama queen," I huff, laughing softly.

"Yo! I'm a drama king, dude! I've got a crown and everything!" he corrects me, and apparently, he is not going to wallow in silence. "I was told that you live for ice hockey... well, skating in general. But here you are, lying on that bed at half past six on a Saturday evening, like a grandpa. If you were really dedicated, you would've been on the ice by now. Most recruits can't wait to see the rink they'll be training on, but you-"

"Oh, ara be whist!" I growl, rolling my legs off the bed to sit up. It's much more effective to glare at noisy plonkers when you're not lying down.

"That's not even English, mate," he snorts, and he is really curled up on his bed, cuddling the rabbit that is almost as tall as he is, with long floppy ears draped off the side of his bed. It's the weirdest thing I've ever seen, and I'm best mates with Tanner Trent; I've seen some bizarre shite.

"What the hell is the deal with that rabbit?"

"It's my very own puck bunny," he tells me with a proud grin. I hope he doesn't really think that term refers to stuffed animals bigger than a small child, or we might end up with a problem. "My girlfriend gave it to me. She told me this had better be the only ice hockey groupie I take into my bed."

Alright, he knows what a puck bunny is.

"Clever girl," I grin. "But she's worried about nothin'. This town is the back end of a cow's arse. People come here to face their demons and find themselves in the bleak light of winter... at least, that's what I read on the town's website. I doubt ye're in any danger of bein' seduced by a puck bunny here."

Jax sits up too, propping the rabbit up with his arm around it to sit with its legs dangling over the edge, leaning into his side. I'm a little worried for his girlfriend now. It's possible that she'd been replaced.

"You would think that, right?" he says, looking almost serious for a moment. "Every Saturday night, a whole flock of puck bunnies blow into town to hang out with the guys since we have Sundays off."

"They go around in flocks here?"

"Yeah! Sometimes as many as ten at a time," he confirms with earnest, wide eyes, missing the point of my question. "There's not a lot of entertainment this side of the big city. Young people have to make their own fun, and the girls - and some of the men - in the small towns find our boys to be the most entertaining thing around whether we're playing a match or not."

"So, they all come here and hang out at the arena?"

"Uhm, no," Jax frowns. "Yeah, people come here to skate for fun over the weekend, but the real, off-the-ice fun happens in Snowglen, where most of the guys live."

"So, the flock of bunnies blows into Snowglen, not Cristalcrest?" I clarify, wincing at the stupidest sentence I've ever heard myself say.

"That's mostly right," Jax nods, still not seeing how bunnies cannot be blown anywhere, especially not in flocks. "We also sometimes have mixers with the girls from Clearford."

Clearford is a town about an hour from here. It has a similar academy focussing on female recruits.

"Right," I sigh, getting to my feet and pulling my jacket from the chair's back where I left it. "So, is that bunny helpin' ye stay faithful to yer girlfriend?"

"This bunny? No, but Liza is the best thing that's ever happened to me, man. That's keeping me faithful. I'm not f#cking that up for anything. Besides, hanging out with groupies is not my scene."

"Wasn't gettin' into the academy the best thing that's ever happened to you?" I frown, surprised by his sentimentality.

"No, second best," he grins, playing with his bunny's ears. "How about you? You like the whole casual hook-ups with groupie girls thing?"

"Naw. Maybe when I was young and an eejit," I shrug.

"So, last week?" he grins.

"Aye," I laugh, pushing my arms into the jacket's sleeves and regretting it almost at once. The room is a bit warmer than strictly comfortable, and this jacket could kill me indoors. "I'm not interested in any of that. I'm here to push the puck, not puck the bunnies. That's all."

"Ah," Jax laughs, slapping his free hand on his thigh. "I see what you did there! Good, my uncle is really putting a lot of trust in us, asking Hank to take us in. Hank is good people. He doesn't deserve any trouble."

He's right. Taking someone like me in is a huge risk.

"My uncle and Hank saved me from jail," Jax sighs and I can see that he is really serious now, no longer messing around. "We moved to the city when my dad buckled under financial stress caused by a long drought and sold the farm. I wasn't happy. I was rebellious and got mixed up with the wrong people, spiralling into worse and worse trouble.

"Last year, my friends got nabbed breaking into a liquor store," he pauses, swallowing hard. "One got shot. I wasn't with them at the time because I was practising ice hockey. Any other day, I would probably have been there, doing stuff I knew was wrong and not really wanting to do it, but..."

He pulls a face, rubbing his hand over his head, making his hair stand up in a tuft, like one of my sister,  Emmy's cute trolls.

"I was out of control, and the whole incident knocked me on my ass. I was about to lose my spot in the ice hockey team too, due to my shitty behaviour. Next thing, my uncle showed up at the club I was playing for. He had Hank and two recruiters from the academy with him. After my normal practice, they put me through my paces... nearly bloody killed me, the bastards," he grins fondly. "And here I am. It's been nearly six months now."

I smile, listening to his story. I remember Kyle sometimes mentioning being worried about his cousin and unable to communicate with him. He said they'd drifted apart. Seems like Jax is on his way back.

His story is not all that different from my own. I didn't run with criminals, but I was definitely spiralling into hell.

"And you?" he asks, waiting for me to exchange stories with him. There's too much I really don't want to talk about... ever, but I can give him a general summary.

"Not half as excitin' as yers," I assure him. "I just really needed a reason to live. Somethin' to strive for. Yer uncle saved me too... and here I am. It's been nearly 30 minutes now." I finish my story using his words. "Unless I count the time I was freezin' me arse off at the station."

"Ah, right! Some locals skidded off the road on a patch of black ice; Hank had to use the truck to help them get their car out of a ditch. Nobody got hurt this time... except, of course, you," he shrugs, pulling a face.

"Glad to hear that."

"Cool!" he grins. Apparently, he understands when not to push... unless you're trying to have a nap and he is burning to show you around. "We'll have each other's backs. Not everybody at the academy likes the peasants Hank puts up in this house. They feel we spoil the elite image of the place. We don't. We're a beacon of hope for others in our position," he adds passionately.

I don't like the sound of the part before we became beacons when we were still peasants, but I'm used to being thought of as something that stinks up the place. Stepping across the carpet in the divide between our beds, I stretch my arm out to Jax for a fist bump.

"Damn, straight," I say, grinning when he knocks his fist against mine. "Now, are ye goin' to sit there, cuddlin' yer teddy all night, or are we goin' to check out the barn?" By barn, I mean the ice hockey rink.

"It's a bunny, Galen, not a teddy," Jax complains, carefully laying down his cuddle buddy and getting to his feet too.

This is the second time tonight I'm in this truck, rattling over rough terrain, but I'm not quite as cold right now. My body soaked up enough heat in the house to last me from the front door to the truck, and Jax has the heater on full blast despite the fact that he grabbed a jacket similar to mine from one of the coat stands in the foyer where we stopped to put on our shoes.

I'm ready for a long drive and am therefore baffled when we've barely left the driveway, veered off the street, driven through an alley between our house and the next to enter a large park of some sort, and Jax already parks the truck and cuts the engine.

My eyes roam over what I can see of the huge, sprawling building set in the middle of the park, finding the words Cristalcrest Ice Arena in a lighted sign above the entrance.

I turn in my seat, looking behind us to make sure I'm not off my nut. Nope, I can see the house we came from peeping from behind the trees, less than 100 meters away. There is even a footpath leading from it to the paved area, decorated with trees and benches just outside the double doors of the arena.

"It's nothin'but a dooter from the house to the arena," I remark, and I don't have to ask the question on my mind; Jax can read it in my expression when he turns to grin at me.

"It's nut-crushing cold! I'm not walking in that wind, bro," he informs me and shrugging, I open my door and jump out of the truck.

He's right; now that I'm not all warm and toasty anymore - we didn't drive far enough for the truck's interior to heat up - I can feel the icy wind get into every opening it can find in my thick layers of clothing. We hurry across the paved area, and, too desperate to get out of the wind I barely glance at the pleasant landscaping done around the main structure.

The entry doors are large slabs of wood covered in carvings that seem to be of a landscape with pine trees and wolves. I'm not sure, as we don't pause to admire it. Hell, I hope there aren't any wolves around here! Shoving the doors open, we run into the welcoming warmth of the lobby.

"Man, I love the smell of ice rinks," I grin, taking a deep breath, enjoying the vaguely gym-like fragrance.

"You like the smell of wet rubber, ice and sweat?" Jax laughs. "You're one weird bastard, Gan McKenna."

"To be sure, to be sure," I chuckle, turning full circle to take in my surroundings. "Classy!"

The owners of the rink in Thunder Ridge didn't try to make the place look like a luxury spa. It was just a long building with two rinks, one for hockey and one for the rest, with a gravel parking lot outside. The end.

They had the normal shoe rental kiosk and sold hot drinks and snacks at the same counter that sold tickets. This place is in a league of its own. Then again, people come here from all over the world to check out players for their teams, and when the academy's teams play training and try out matches against pro teams, the place is packed.

I've watched many of their matches online myself and I know what the hockey rink and its bleachers look like. I haven't seen the rest of the place, though. The lobby with the chained-off channels where people will queue for tickets looks like something from a movie. Polished floors, recessed lights and enough plants to turn the place into a greenhouse.

Not grand, my ass!

"We man the ticket booth on Saturday mornings," Jax tells me. "And switch to the skate booth in the afternoon. Saturday's are our busiest time."

"Looks fierce busy right now," I tell him, looking around me at the empty lobby.

"We closed early today," he says, punching my shoulder. "There was a blizzard warning. People needed to get home before it hit."

"Why are we out here, then?!" I exclaim, appalled by the news.

"We live two steps away; most of the visitors had a long drive ahead. Even the trains have stopped running already. You made it here just in time, or Hank would've had to find you lodgings in the city."

So, that's why the train service ended so early; I thought it was strange.

"Besides, the worst of it is set to blow past Cristalcrest. It often happens; the mountains shelter us to some extent."

I still don't like the word blizzard hanging in the air between us. I don't really know what being hit by a blizzard would be like, but I'm pretty sure it cannot be fun.

"It's okay, Gan; we have about an hour before it's predicted to hit."

"I wouldn't set me watch by weather forecasts," I tell him, wandering around the lobby, looking at all the history laid out to be seen.

The walls of the lobby are lined with display cases filled with trophies, and the entire back wall is covered in framed portraits of well-known hockey stars. I pause at one that jumps out at me.

"That's Tucker!" I say, pointing up at the photograph of the man I met today. He is about my age in the portrait, and his face is much less kind and melancholic; it is youthful and filled with hope and excitement. It hurts to look at it.

"Yeah," Jax smiles fondly. "He's a legend. They still use videos of his plays in training."

"Must be hard, losin' all of that," I mutter, swallowing against the tightness in my throat.

"Yeah," Jax agrees. "They now use him as a cautionary tale too. You'll hear his story on Monday during the new recruit orientation. He talks about how being a brash young asshole led to him losing everything he'd worked for."

"He talks about it?" I find that hard to believe, thinking about the quiet man I was introduced to.

"Yeah."

"Usin' words and his voice?"

"Yeah," Jax laughs. "He's like my dad's old tractor. It's hard to get him going, but once he starts, it's hard to get him to stop again. He taught me a lot. He's worth listening to. You should make the time to chat with him."

I follow Jax around while he shows me the ticket booth and the coffee shop. The smell of coffee still hangs enticingly in the air despite the place being inactive right now.

I can vaguely hear music coming from somewhere to our right when we walk into the central area filled with vending machines, benches and long tables where people can take breaks or put on their skates. Turning left, we pass the large serving window separating the rows of ice skates hanging from hooks from the skaters. When we enter the ice hockey rink, Jax runs up the steps to the control room and commentator booth to flip the switches and light up the place.

Excitement courses through my blood, seeing the vast round-cornered rectangle of smooth ice surrounded by a barrier of dasher boards and transparent shields come to life before me. I'm glad Jax brought me here and regret not bringing my skates. We could potentially borrow some from the rental booth. I'm itching to be out there, feeling the wind in my hair as I speed around the rink.

There's nothing like it. I feel alive out there.

"Wow, this is pure class!" I exclaim in awe, leaning up against the barrier to look through the shielding at the neatly painted circles and lines marking the playing field. I can feel the sweat and blood poured onto that ice for the past 25 years of the academy's existence call out to me.

I'm suddenly light-headed and weak, realising that I am really here. My dreams just might come true, and it scares the shite out of me. I'm standing on the same rubber mats many famous players have stood on as rookies before I was even born.

"This is quare savage..." I mutter, and Jax joins me, clapping an empathetic hand on my back. I think he gets it. "I might cry," I tell him, and he chuckles softly.

"I sure did the first time I stood here. Bawled like a baby... and I have many times since," he sighs heavily. "Mostly because I'm tired and frustrated and mad because I'm not allowed to punch anybody."

I give him a less-than-thrilled look, and he laughs the same rumbling laugh I've heard from both his uncle and his cousin so many times in the last five years.

"Come on, there's lots more to show you."

I reluctantly push away from the barrier and follow him along the side of the rink and past the empty bleachers on the right to the large doors set in a recess in the middle.

"This is where we keep one of our beauties, he tells me, unlocking the doors and shoving them open. He flips a switch just inside the door, and I grin, seeing the large blue and white Zamboni. It's a fat rectangular vehicle facing the doors we just entered. There will be one for the other rink as well. These ice resurfacers are vehicles used for cleaning and smoothing the surface of the ice rinks.

"Ah, she's a feek, to be sure," I agree. "We had one beat-up yellow one in Thunder Ridge. It kept on breakin' down, and then I had to use a manual resurfacer."

"That sucks," Jax chuckles. "The ones we have here are fairly new. We get loads of donations from players who make it big and want to give back to the community that launched them on their path."

"Grand."

We leave the Zamboni to sleep since Jax has already done the rink today, and after a quick tour of the changing rooms, listening to instructions about routine tasks we're to perform, such as restocking toilet paper and cleaning out trash cans, Jax turns off the lights, and we walk back the way we came.

The music grows louder as we cross the benched area in front of the skate rental booth and gear shop to reach the open door of the figure skating rink.

"During public skating hours, advanced skaters use the hockey rink, and less experienced ones use the figure skating rink because they can hang over the barrier like drunks." That's right, this rink doesn't have the protective shields on top of the dasher boards. "We also have that tiny rink there in the central area we came through for kids and people who can barely stay on their feet. You have to use the manual resurfacer on it, but it's not a large surface to cover."

I don't recognise the song playing over the sound system; most of it is not in English, but the tune stirs my blood, making me long to get out on the ice where a couple is practising some kind of anxiety-inducing dance.

The man is wearing a black tight-fitting training suit, and the girl is in dark, dusty blue and light blue leggings with a short skirt and a matching top, leaving her mid-rif bare. Very sporty-looking and cute. That's all I can make out from this distance.

They move well together.

I can see them more clearly the deeper we walk into the rink area, and we're almost at the barrier when Jax stops, pointing out the glass-enclosed DJ booth built at the top of the bleachers on our side of the rink.

"The sound system is up there, but they can control the music remotely, so we don't have to help them when they practice," he tells me. "And over there, on that side of the rink, we have a couple of party rooms. There's one near the small rink too. People like to bring their kids here for their birthdays. That's when our job gets messy, and I'm talking puke, stepped-on cake, snot, the works."

I'm about to ask him a question about practice hours and when we're supposed to be doing all the tasks he'd mentioned when a blur of movement and the sound of skates scraping on the ice near the barrier draws my startled attention.

A breeze stirs my hair as the girl dashes past us at an impressive speed.

~~~