Ink and Ice, Erin McRae [primary phonics .txt] 📗

parking lot asphalt and the feel of its duct-taped handle were comfortingly familiar. As was the presence of Charlotte Beaulieu, his roommate and the on-again off-again ladies French national champion, at his side.

Once he pushed through the glass double doors Aaron inhaled deeply. The scent of the rink - rubber floor mats, disinfectant, the indefinable smell of ice—surrounded him. He felt a weight he hadn’t known he carried lift off his shoulders. He might have left his family, but still, here, he was also home.

Charlotte ran off to find Brendan to ask him something, and Aaron made for the men’s locker room. He unpacked most of the contents of his skate bag into his locker—snacks, spare laces, a change of clothes, extra soakers, yet more snacks, a backup phone charger—and sat down on one of the benches to put his skates on.

He was the only one in there this early, which would have been unusual during the season and felt like a blessing now. Skating involved a tremendous amount of being watched—by judges, by coaches, by competitors. A respite from that was welcome.

Aaron tugged the laces on each of his skates tight and tied them off into double knots before tucking the ends into his boots. Keep your eyes on your own paper. It was a favorite saying of Katie’s: Work on what you can control. Let go of the rest. There was plenty about skating no one could predict, but the biggest thing was the performance of others. As much as he was competing against the entire men’s field, he had to train as if he was only competing against himself.

Still, it was hard. Aaron’s first step onto the ice—that familiar shift from walking to gliding, the smooth slick of the ice beneath his blades and the rush of building speed—was marred by thoughts of his competition in the upcoming season.

Jack Palumbo would claim any top spot there was to claim nationally, plus a lot of the international top spots, that was for sure. Aaron wasn’t sure which he envied more—Jack’s stable of seemingly effortless quad jumps, or his consistency. And he had artistry, at least when his coaches let him pick his own music. But Aaron wasn’t particularly preoccupied with him.

Cayden Sauer, on the other hand, was definitely living rent-free in Aaron’s head. Not only did Aaron find him consistently unpleasant whenever they ran into each other at competitions and training camps, he edged out Aaron’s scores more often than not. With Luke out of the running, if Aaron didn’t get to the Olympics, it would be because Cayden had.

Aaron warmed up—edges and crossovers to get the feel of the ice, single jumps to get the feeling of his body and then doubles to find the physics of it all again after so many weeks off. As he went, Aaron tried, but failed, to shake off his worries about the season ahead.

What makes you different from all the other skaters? Katie was going to ask him, the same way she did every year when they started building programs. And as always, he didn’t know. Which was a problem. With the stakes this season, nothing half-assed would serve.

His worries distracted him, and he popped what he’d meant to be a triple toe loop. Frustrated, he set up the entrance to the jump again. He got the full number of rotations in, but fell on the landing. Next try, he caught an edge going into it and went sprawling before he could take off.

Thank God for crash shorts.

Aaron knew he should give it a rest; there was no need to nail anything before he’d been on the ice an hour and for the first time in weeks. But that jump wasn’t hard for him. He’d been landing it since he was a kid, and if he couldn’t land such a reliable jump....

He gave it another go. In midair, half a meter off the ground, he already knew the jump was bad, and he yelled in frustration before he hit the ice. Again.

“Sheftall!” Katie’s voice cut through the brisk air.

Aaron picked himself up off and readied himself for another attempt.

“Don’t you dare!” Katie yelled again, like she might march right onto the sheet and drag him off of it if he didn’t comply.

Aaron sighed and skated over to the boards where Katie waited, her brow furrowed. She was dressed as she usually was for a day of coaching, with no sign that Aaron had interrupted her summer vacation by returning early, except that she was wearing sneakers, not skates.

Silently, she handed Aaron his skate guards, a clear commentary that he was done for now. He slipped them on reluctantly as he stepped off the ice.

Brendan stood by the door that led to the lobby, talking to a man Aaron didn’t recognize but who was wearing a hilarious number of layers. Aaron was only in a t-shirt, but this guy was wearing a down coat with a fur-trimmed hood. Still, he was definitely cute. Dark hair, a short dark beard that didn’t hide how sharp his jawline was, and a general broadness of build that probably wasn’t all just the coat. And he was definitely at least six feet. Aaron approved.

“Good morning,” Aaron told Katie cheerily, while he continued to check out the guy.

She gave him an exasperated look. “When I said we were going to get an early start I did not expect this.”

Aaron refocused on her. “You told me I could use the ice. Who’s the dude?” He tried not to grin. It was good to be back. Even—especially—when he was getting chewed out by Katie. She only bothered to be a hardass to people she liked.

“Journalist,” Katie said. “He’s here to write a piece about the state of the field as it stands now for Athletics Monthly. He’ll be off to cover Sauer in Phoenix eventually. If I had to guess, he'll probably talk to a bunch of the juniors too. So in the meantime, make yourself a good