Galen

I watch, mesmerised, as the girl sweeps past us at neck-breaking speed.

She flawlessly makes a sudden change in direction to head backwards to the centre of the ice, not losing any of her speed. When she reaches her mark, she throws her body into a powerful spin, lifting one foot above her head and holding it there with both hands.

Her partner was mirroring her fast skating and direction change on the other side of the rink and joins her in the middle, grabbing her hand in passing when she lowers the foot she had in the air.

He yanks her out of the spin, pulling her along with him as he speeds away, and together, they twist and turn through paces that leave me feeling queasy just looking at them. Gravity appears to have no hold on the pair as they jump and twirl, weaving around each other in finely timed ways that make my heart pound nervously.

Hearing the girl giggle, I smile as an unexpected stream of memories of Paisley Davenport, the feisty girl I've had a massive crush on for the last five years, flood my mind. Watching the graceful way in which the unknown girl glides over the ice, I remember one fond, recent instance of Paise in a tutu getting tossed from one male dancer to another on stage, laughing gleefully as she was grabbed and dipped, her nose nearly touching the floor while her feet stuck up in the air.

"Yikes! I nearly tossed my cookies with that last fish dive!" I can still hear her throaty laugh when she was back on her feet, getting ready for the next round of practice moves.

Paisley loves dancing as much as I love skating. She always does it with the abandonment that only real passion can bring. I see that same pure elation in the girl on the ice. I don't know her from Adam, and I can barely see her face, but I can feel her joy all the way to where I'm standing.

"Dude!" Jax exclaims, slapping me on the back hard enough to knock Paisley out of my head. "Don't even go there."

"Aye, it's better to forget," I grunt, and then I realise that Jax couldn't possibly know what I was thinking about. "Wait, go where?"

"There," he says, pointing at the skating pair.

"Why would I go out there?" I ask, really baffled now. I would get in their way and cause them to get injured. I'm not an eejit! Well, I am, but not when it comes to things like this.

"That look on your face..."

"Oh!" I laugh, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "I was thinking about a friend back home. She moves like that, but on stage... doing ballet."

"You watch ballet?" Jax grins, and I can see that I'm about to get teased.

"Only when she's doing it."

"Ah, your girlfriend?" he nods sympathetically since he's an expert on being separated from girlfriends and missing them.

"I wish," I grunt. We are again crossing into territory I would rather not talk about. "She has a big boyfriend, and he can kill me using just these two fingers," I tell him, bringing the tips of my thumb and forefinger together. "The only thing stopping him is the fact that he is too good for his own good."

Jax gives me a compassionate smile, and when another breeze of fast movement near the barrier stirs against my cheek, I turn to watch the skaters again.

"They're good," I tell Jax, and he nods, agreeing with me.

"They sure are," he says. "They're Snowglen Figure Skating Academy's top dogs. They're practising for the ice dancing category of the annual district championships."

I don't generally follow figure skating, but I know about the academy and its reputation for training some of the best skaters at the Olympics. Seeing these two in action, I think that the reputation might be well deserved.

"I hope they get to compete this year," Jax says pressing his lips together, watching the skaters with his brows drawn together.

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Last year, they both got injured during practice a couple of days before the competition. I'm not sure what happened; it was before I got here. I just heard the stories," Jax tells me, leaning his forearms on the top of the barrier. "He broke his hand, and she sprained her wrist. They obviously had to withdraw since they do a lot of that," he says, jerking his chin in their direction.

While they're gliding along, the male skater lifts the girl, balancing her above his head with a hand on the small of her back while she arches over backwards, bracing herself with one hand pressing into the back of his neck. She uses it to push herself over, daintily landing behind him. No way they're doing that with hands and wrists that aren't completely healthy.

"She bandaged up and still won the female singles, but she was heartbroken missing out on the free dance division. That is what she really longs to take part in."

Now, I'm really worried for Jax's girlfriend because he seems to be in awe of the girl doing high-risk acrobatics with only her partner standing between her and a serious fall. Skating together like that requires a lot of trust, and those two must have it in spades.

"I'm just glad the injuries weren't the permanent kind," Jax says. "She lives to skate... and so does he."

Working here obviously causes strong bonds with other skaters. It was like that in Thunder Ridge too. It's unavoidable. There, I had to sit in the DJ booth and start, stop and replay the music for figure skaters practising for competitions and exams. I made many ice friends during my years working there part-time.

Some good, some best to avoid.

The girl on the ice finds her feet after coming down from another lift and giggles happily as she spins away from her partner. Her loosely braided hair is a cheeky cinnamon-brown snake following her every move, and I cannot stop watching.

The free dance segment of competitions features step sequences, lifts and difficult skating skills. The couple generally skates to whatever music and tempo they want. It's a lot more entertaining and breathtaking than the rhythm dance category, which is more like funky ballroom dancing. Watching the team on the ice, I think they are going to crush it.

Imagining how disappointed the girl must've been not to compete is making me ridiculously sad. I'm glad she still got to win the single-female competition, where she had to show great technical skill, but what she's doing out there now is clearly what she enjoys the most.

Dammit, I need to get to bed. I'm turning into a weepy wee sap! Feeling teary because a complete stranger didn't get to dance in a competition is just mental. I only cry when I'm flutered or high, and I haven't been either for at least a month.

"She really loves it," I remark, and Jax grunts his agreement.

"She's the biggest rink rat of all of us," he chuckles. "But don't call her that. She insists she's not any kind of rat."

She doesn't look like a rat to me, either. They never stand still long enough to see any of their details or facial features properly, but I can see that the girl flows like silk. Pure class! I've never seen anyone use the ice and the air quite like she does.

The guy is good too, but he barely keeps up, and watching him more closely, impressed by his skill and power, I gradually become aware that things aren't as perfect as I thought they were.

"He's going to get her injured... or killed," I mutter, feeling frustration building in my chest.

"What the hell are you talking about, mate?" Jax exclaims, giving me a freaked-out look.

"He's too slow to keep up with her, and his timing is about half a count out almost every time he has to grab her. She compensates, and it makes her seem a bit wobbly when it happens. It's not good. He needs to up his game."

"Well, f#ck me!" Jax exclaims, and then he's laughing his raucous laugh again. "I thought you were an ice hockey player, not a twirly boy."

"A what?" I laugh, grimacing at him. He just nods towards the rink where the pair are actually twirling right now.

"I've never heard them called twirly boys and girls before," I tell him with a smirk.

"Yeah, twirly people. It's the official term," Jax assures me with wide eyes. "I just made it up. Do you like it?"

I stare at the big guy, laughter building up inside me, chasing away the tightness that was threatening to take over a few seconds ago. "I'm not sure. Should we ask him if he wants to be called a twirly boy?"

"Nah, he's a dick," Jax scoffs, pulling a face, and then he grunts, curling his lips in disgust. "Hey, I can call him a twirly boy if I want to. It's a lot better than the crap he always calls us hockey guys."

Chuckling, I brace my forearms on the barrier in the same way Jax is doing. I watch the girl come out of a spin and reach out her hand, ready for the guy to grab it and pull her in a fast chase around the ring.

I wince, clenching my teeth. He was almost too late again. She realised that he was late and paused in the act of leaning in for the grab a split-second in time. If she hadn't, she might've fallen.

She cannot be grabbing hands that aren't there when they should be. I'm getting mad now. How can he be so careless? He must notice that he's off. I know it's none of my business, but still...

"Hey, stop it," Jax says, giving the pair a troubled look before frowning at me. "Robert Teeger is a champion. The best in the district. He's on his way to the next Olympics. There's no way he is too slow for her. She's lucky to have him for this."

"I don't care who he is," I snap, shoving myself away from the barrier and turning to glare at Jax. "His timing is off, I tell ya."

"Last time I checked, you were a puck pusher, not a figure skater," Jax grumbles, glaring back at me.

"The term is twirly person, Jackson," I point out helpfully, earning a grin. "Besides, I can still count," I grunt. Jax does not change his opinion, and I don't think it's admiration for the bloke's skills that has him denying the possibility that the guy might not be perfect. He is worried for the girl and doesn't want me to be right. I relax my frown, relenting.

Getting up to 90 is not going to help.

Yeah, I'm the one coming to the conclusion that anger is not the solution. Dex will be so proud of me for the spurt of emotional growth.

"Look, they're going in for another of those moves," I tell Jax, and he turns his attention away from me to watch the pair on the ice. "Listen to the music and count. It's a fast Walz. One two three, two two three, three two three grab! See! he came in a fraction too late. He was supposed to grab her on three, not just after three almost on the next one. He nearly missed her."

I turn to look at Jax, hoping to see enlightenment on his face, but all I see is him gaping at me as if I just sprouted a tail and a horn on my forehead.

"You could see that?" he asks, dumbfounded.

"Aye, couldn't ye?" It was clear as day!

"No, bro! I didn't see nothing but two cray white kids trying to break their necks," he tells me, making me laugh with his comically stressed look. "Seriously, Gan. It's too friggin' fast for me to see if they grab each other on one two three two three... three or whatever. There were way too many threes in there for me to keep up."

"It doesn't matter how you count it," I explain. "Just go with the rhythm."

"See, that's the problem right there," he grimaces. "I have the musical talent of a sea snail... so..."

"Aye, yer right," I sigh, running my fingers through my hair and scratching irritably at my scalp. I seriously need a shower and a good hair wash. "I'm probably wrong. I'm so jet-lagged, I hardly know me own name."

I sincerely hope that I am wrong. The idea of seeing that ice fairy breaking a limb is not a pleasant thought.

Jax hesitates, watching the pair navigating the ice, probably trying to count the beats and see what I was trying to tell him, while the guy spins the girl, who is skating almost horizontally, close to the ice, holding onto her one hand. She is going "wheeeee" like a happy little kid, making me chuckle with surprise. 

After a few minutes of frowning the way his cousin always does when he's lost his glasses and cannot see a thing, Jax gives up and shrugs it off.

"I'll ask her later," he grunts. "She would know."

"Aye, to be sure, to be sure," I agree, turning away from the ice dancers.

"Come on," Jax grins, putting an arm around my shoulders. "Let's go grab some skates and chase a puck around on our rink. That will blow the jetlag and weird counting habits right out of your brain."

Our rink! I like the sound of that.

"Now yer sucking diesel!" I laugh, excited about the idea of trying out the hockey rink.

"No, I'm not sucking anything, especially not stuff that could kill me!" Jax frowns. "Dude, you really are a weirdo. When are you going to learn to speak proper English?"

He laughs when I cuff him, and together, we run back to the hockey rink where all my dreams are waiting on the sparkling surface of the expanse of smooth ice.

Less than a month ago, I wanted to die. Now, I'm living the dream!

I soon have the icy wind of speed on my face, a hockey stick in my hands and skates on my feet. They're not mine, and I can feel it, but that's never bothered me before. I'll skate in any shoes that can do the job.

Jax and I chase a puck back and forth between us, trying to score goals off each other at the nearest net. We're laughing and trash-talking and having the kind of craic I haven't had in a long time. It's savage to be doing this with someone well-matched and challenging. We take it easy, though, since we're not completely geared up, and he is wearing his normal glasses.

Still, his six months of training have me working for it, and, bit by bit, I can feel the home-sickness and travel stress drain away in the sheer bliss of pushing the puck with a guy who is fast becoming a friend.

I still miss my brother way too much, but I always have to hold back a little while playing with Dex because ice hockey was never his thing. He's pretty decent at it, but there are many other things he would rather do.

Jax loves it as much as I do. His boisterous laughter echoes loudly every time one of us does something stupid, or he scores against me, which is not as often as I expected.

I'm still pretty riled up and rearing to go when he suddenly stops playing and skates towards me, calmly gliding the puck close to his blade.

"Whoa, Irish!" he chuckles when he reaches me and scoops up the puck. "I can see why you're here. I've had enough now; you're killing me."

"Is that right?" I snort, joining him when he heads to the opening in the barrier.

"You think I'm joking?" he asks, frowning at me. "I thought you said you were tired and jet-lagged. You've been pushing me to my limit."

"Got me second wind," I tell him, and he gives me an odd look, shaking his head.

"I would leave you to play by yourself until that second wind blows out, but I'm hearing the real wind rattling through the roof. We'd better get home before the storm hits."

The music is gone, and everything is dark in the direction of the figure skating rink when we put our borrowed gear away and get ready to leave. After making sure that all the lights are off in the complex, we walk back to the lobby and through it to the large entry doors. Before we reach them, Jax asks me to help him pull a retractable security gate from one wall to the next, cutting the lobby off from the entryway and forming an enclosure between the gate and the entrance doors.

"We never lock the big entrance doors; we only lock the security gate," he tells me when I frown, watching him work. "If someone gets trapped outside in a snowstorm, the arena is the biggest structure and easiest to find in poor visibility. Desperate people can shelter in the lobby between the entrance doors and the security gate."

That is pretty thoughtful. This section has a door leading to toilets, and Jax shows me the switch that will turn on the heat in the lobby.

In one corner, there's a water system that can provide both hot and cold water. Paper cups and a container with instant coffee packets, tea, powdered milk, sugar and soup powder are on the cabinet beside it.

"We keep those stocked," Jax explains. "It saves lives. There are blankets in the bottom section of the three couches."

"Does that kind of thing happen often?" I ask, impressed and disturbed by the level of preparation and thought that went into what I'd thought was just the comfortable waiting area part of the lobby.

"More often than you will believe."

"That gate won't keep serious robbers out," I observe.

"We don't generally have an issue with thieves here. The gate is to keep kids off the ice when nobody is around to look after them."

The wind nearly knocks me on my butt when we leave the shelter of the arena and hurry to the truck. It's not just because it is seriously strong; it's also cold enough to cut right through the exposed skin of my cheeks, and I pull my jacket's hood closer over my head and shove my gloved hands into my pockets as we force our way to the truck.

"Cheers for not making us walk," I tell Jax when we shut the doors and he starts the truck.

"I've learned the hard way," he chuckles.

There are more people at home when we enter the welcoming warmth, hang our jackets on the coat racks and put our shoes in pigeon holes. I can hear them in the kitchen, but Jax agrees when I tell him that introductions can wait until I've had a shower to wash away my travel grime and the sweat I've worked up during our game.

"Yeah, dude, you're starting to stink," he tells me with a jovial grin, and I believe him. I've been in the same clothes since I got on the plane in Thunder Ridge. Jax is not in desperate need of a shower before dinner and enters the kitchen while I hurry through the empty living area, making my way upstairs.

It doesn't take me long to dig fresh clothes out of one of my suitcases, and the hot jets of the shower, when I finally step into it, feel good against my skin, washing away a lot of my fatigue. During the drive back to the house, I lost that surge of energy I felt on the ice and was starting to feel lethargic as it waned. The shower is bringing me back and I bask in the cleansing warmth as I wash my hair and scrub my body.

When it's time to wash my feet, I look down, raising one foot to apply soap to it and there, near my toes, almost touching them, is the biggest, most nasty-looking white, hairy spider I have ever seen. It looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. 

A snow spider? Is there something like that? The thing's front paws or feelers, or whatever they are, are raised, and I think it is about to attack me.

I do not like spiders!

Somebody is shrieking like a banshee, hitting the highest note in an opera, and I'm only vaguely aware that it is me as I throw myself out of the shower. I slip and slide over the floor tiles, yank open the door and all but fall out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I only stop screaming when I crash into something soft and moving that lets out a startled yelp.

It takes me a couple of gasping seconds to realise that I'm standing - wet and naked - in the hallway, and I've got a wide-eyed, shocked girl shoved against the wall that broke her fall and stopped my flight.

"Oh, bollox!"

~~~