“Ah.”
“I’m headed to the rink now to get some skating in before practice this morning,” Dirks continued. “Figured I’d call and see if you wanted to catch up.”
I hesitated. Every part of me wanted to say no, to keep my distance, stay in my bubble where it was safe, where I didn’t have to worry about slipping back into old habits. Fuck it. Maybe it was time to take a chance, to see if I could trust myself again.
“Just you?” I asked, needing to be sure no one else was going to be around. I wasn’t ready to be in big groups yet.
Dirks paused, and I could feel him nodding on the other end. “Yeah, just me.”
“Alright,” I said, a grin stretching across my face. “I’ll meet you there.”
I hadn’t skated in a while. In Malibu, the closest rink was an hour away, and though I was encouraged to go, I never did. It was too painful and reminded me of what happened with my ex, Nova, and my former career. It reminded me of how utterly directionless I had been.
I sighed, grabbing my skates and stick, and walked toward the familiar rink where the Ravens practiced. Dirks was standing outside the big doors. He was older than I was by a few years and was closer friends with Ledger and Alex, but we looked like we could be related. Both of us had curly blonde hair; although Dirks looked like he’d kept his hair long.
“Dude.” Dirks walked up, grinning ear to ear, and wrapped me up into a hug. “You look fucking good. Let me see you.” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled away, scanning me up and down. He patted my head. “You actually look like an adult now.”
I laughed. “I am twenty-six.”
“Still a baby, then,” Dirks teased, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and guiding me inside.
“I haven’t skated in over a year,” I admitted, taking in the familiar scent of the arena.
Though the Ravens didn’t play games here, the atmosphere still carried that mix of sweat, chilled air, and all the memories of the ice.
“Ledger mentioned you hadn’t been skating much but said you’d be helping out with the kids,” Dirks said.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I guess they thought it’d be a good way for me to make some cash.”
Dirks nodded and then gestured to the locker room. “Need to change, or are you going to skate in that?” He looked me up and down.
I was wearing jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and a hoodie. “This is fine.”
Dirks chuckled. “Sounds good. They saved the ice for us, so we’re clear to use our sticks. I’m gonna throw my pads on—how about you take some shots at me?”
“For sure.” My eyes drifted toward the rink. It would feel good to have a few moments to myself, to take it all in while Dirks got ready. “I’ll meet you out there.”
Dirks gave me a nod before heading off to the locker room, leaving me alone in the silence.
I walked toward the rink, my steps echoing against the concrete floor, the familiar chill seeping into my bones. The lights hummed above me, pulling me back to a time when this had been everything for me.
I stood at the edge, staring out at the smooth, untouched sheet of ice, and the memories crashed over me. The glow of the lights after a game, the adrenaline of a win. I closed my eyes, but turned toward the press box, where she’d stand—my wife, grinning down at me, proud and happy.
My ex-wife. The other memories crept in—the relentless pressure to be perfect, the late nights drinking, the drugs, the naked women. It all came crashing down, hitting me harder than I’d expected.
I walked over to the benches, grabbed my skates from the bag, and pulled off the guards, then set them aside. I paused and instinctively looked at my hands, searching for the familiar shake, that slight tremor that always signaled the craving creeping in.
I waited, holding my breath, expecting the whispers to start, the urge to reach for a bottle, to drown out the silence that always made me feel too much.
Nothing came. No tremble, no voice in my head telling me to give in. I released a heavy exhale and bent down, slipping my foot into the skate. One loop, then another, I laced them up, feeling the leather tighten around my ankles.
It wasn’t much, but it was a small victory in a fight I hadn’t realized I’d been winning. I pulled the laces tight, double-checking the knots, and for the first time, I felt steady.
When I stepped onto the ice, my skates cut into the surface, and it was a sensation that felt like home. But I couldn’t escape the bitterness of losing the one thing I was good at. The entire country had watched me fall apart, quick to label me another wasted talent. And for a while, they weren’t wrong.
I moved to the center and closed my eyes. This was a second chance, a chance to rewrite the story everyone decided was over. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else—it was about finding out if I still had it in me. If there was still a spark left beneath all the rubble.
“The one and only Austin Hart, in the flesh,” Dirks called out from the benches.
