Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 18

**Charlotte**

The rink smells like cold metal and old ice. My shoes squeak on the concrete as I step into the main area and glance around. A few parents are already here, and some younger siblings are running around with boundless energy. I keep my bag tucked tight against my side and make my way to the viewing area. I find a seat up on the benches, where I can see the whole rink. I sit down and busy myself with looking anywhere but the door the boys will come out of. I read the signs. The warnings about helmets. The “no food or drink on the ice.” The old banner that reads “Wellington Wolves” in bold. Wolves. Is that a coincidence? Surely not. People put wolves on everything. It doesn’t mean anything. A memory tries to rise, a flash of blades cutting clean circles, the sound of ice under my feet, but I shove it back down because I don’t have the luxury of getting lost in that. I’m here for Charlie. I’m here to make sure he knows he has someone in the stands, he has someone who cares for him here.

The door to the change rooms opens, and a group of boys spill out onto the ice in a messy rush. The sound of their blades hits the rink like a storm. They’re laughing, shoving each other, tapping their sticks and calling out names. Charlie is right near the front. He looks bigger in gear, shoulders broad under the padding, helmet strapped on, jersey pulling across his chest. I can see his cheeks are flushed from excitement. He looks up, scanning the stands, and the second his eyes land on me, his whole face lights up. He lifts his glove and waves, an exaggerated motion that makes one of the boys beside him laugh. I wave back, smiling before I can stop myself. Charlie’s grin widens, and he points his stick at me like he’s saying, You’re here, and I nod quickly with a big smile.

Then Blake comes out behind him. I don’t mean for my eyes to slide away from Charlie, but they do. They just… gravitate. Blake is wearing a different jersey now. Same colours, same number, but it’s clearly new. He has his helmet tucked under one arm, and his gloves are half on as he skates, one hand tugging the strap tight. The shoulder pads fill out his frame, and the hockey pants sit low on his hips. He looks dangerous in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with violence. My gaze drifts down him before I can stop it. From the way his jersey hangs over his chest, to the tape on his stick, to the way his skates carve into the ice with that first push. Then my eyes snap back to Charlie, and I notice his brows are furrowed. He’s looking between Blake and me. My stomach twists. I lift my hand and give him a thumbs up, big and obvious, like I’m saying, I’m here for you, I’m watching you, you’re doing great. Charlie’s expression eases a fraction, but he still doesn’t look fully convinced. He turns away when Coach yells something from the boards, and I let out a slow breath.

Okay. Focus. Charlie. That’s why I’m here. The boys start doing laps, warming up, sticks tapping, blades biting. Charlie pushes off with energy, almost bouncing. He nearly clips another boy on the first turn, too excited and not paying attention. I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. Blake glides past him, smooth and fast, turning his head to shout something at a teammate. Even from up here, I can feel the weight of him on the ice. The way other players adjust around him. The way the pace changes when he’s in motion. I keep trying to watch Charlie, I do. I watch his strides, how he leans into turns, how his stick-handling looks a little stiff because he’s still adjusting to this rink, this team, these boys… But when Blake skates close to him, and his stick knocks Charlie’s in a quick tap, my eyes pull toward Blake again like they have their own agenda.

I don’t understand it. It’s like gravity. I look away and force myself to focus on Charlie’s face. He looks happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. Charlie makes a clean pass, and one of the boys yells, “Nice one, new kid,” and Charlie’s grin turns bright enough to hurt. That’s my brother. That’s the only person in the world I’ve ever truly belonged to. He takes a shot, and it hits the post with a loud ping and ricochets away. He laughs like it doesn’t matter because he’s there. He’s doing it. He’s on the ice. I clap quietly, just once, and he looks up again, searching for me. When he finds me, he lifts his glove again in a small wave, and I smile back. Then Blake’s head turns, and I feel it when his gaze lands on me. My breath catches.

 Blake holds the gaze for a moment longer than is normal. Long enough that my fingers curl around the edge of the bench, and my knee stops hurting because my body has decided this is more important. Then he skates away, and I exhale the breath I was holding. Mine. The word slides through my mind so softly, I almost think I imagined it. Mine. My spine goes rigid, and a cold sweat prickles at the base of my neck. I’ve heard that voice before… When I first shifted, I used to hear a voice in my head all the time. It would pop up when I was angry or scared or when I wanted to run. At first, I thought it was my subconscious. Then I ruled that out because it didn’t sound like me. Then I thought maybe I was going crazy, and I couldn’t afford to be crazy. So I ignored it. I kept ignoring it until the voice stopped… Now it’s back, and it’s looking at Blake like he’s mine. Which is ridiculous. Blake is the hockey captain. He’s confident and strong, and looks like he’s never had to wonder where his next meal is coming from, never had to lie about being full, never had to sleep with one ear open listening for a drunk man stumbling up the stairs. Why would he want someone like me? Even if he did… This is Charlie’s team. Charlie’s new friend. I can’t cross that line. I won’t. Charlie needs this opportunity. He needs a way out of this cycle, out of this house, out of a life that keeps trying to swallow him whole… I’m not going to be the reason something goes wrong. If I have to bury a stupid voice in my head and ignore the way my chest reacts to the hockey captain to make sure Charlie gets his chance, then that’s what I’ll do. Charlie is my priority. He always has been, and he always will be.