Connor didn’t ask where I was going when I said I had something to do. I think he got the hint. He knows me well enough to know that I need my space sometimes. He stopped asking questions about it a long time ago, which I appreciate because it’s not something I can explain.
My seat is great. High enough to see the whole rink. I’ll get to see his whole routine clearly, without obstruction, though I do feel bad for the person behind me. There’s no doubt I’m in their line of view. Another plus is I have an end seat, which I assume they did on purpose, knowing I’m a big guy and squeezing between others wouldn’t be comfortable for any of us.
The arena is buzzing, so different from how it was yesterday. Though, maybe that’s because I was on the ice yesterday and not up in the stands. The energy is different up here than it is down there.
It’s loud with chatter and people excitedly talk about what’s to come and how they hope their team wins. I’ve seen the games over the years, here and there. I’m no pro and I don’t know what to expect, but I have an idea.
Six skaters come onto the ice to warm up, each of them in a different flashy outfit to represent their country. I spot Nico immediately, only having eyes for him. His outfit is form-fitting in an impossible way, the deep blue a contrast against the bright sparkles along the collar. The arms are sheer, and so are the gloves.
He moves differently than the other skaters. Smoother. Gliding across the ice like he was born from it. He’s completely in control of his movements, knowing exactly where he wants to go and what he needs to do to get there.
He does a test jump, launching right into the air, rotating fast, and landing clean. The crowd awes and claps. Other skaters do the same, and the crowd reacts in a similar way. Maybe they can’t see how much better Nico is, but I do. I could see it milesaway. He’s built differently. Made for the ice in a different way than I am—than most people are, even those in his same sport.
The skaters clear the ice and the first country to perform is Japan. They announce the skater, and he comes out onto the ice, a focused look on his face. He goes through his routine, which is good, but not good enough. Moments after he’s finished, his score is announced and the next skater on the ice is from Italy.
I shift in my seat, enjoying the performances but I’m antsy to see Nico. He said he wasn’t nervous yesterday when we spoke, but he must be now. Waiting is the worst. At least, it is for me.
Once I’m on the ice and the game is going, I’m good. But beforehand? There are always nerves, especially when there is more on the line. The games that make or break the playoffs. Playoff games. The Olympics. It’s a lot. I hate thinking about him being uncomfortable, though maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe he is fine waiting for his turn on the ice.
Finally, he’s out there. His name is announced and the volume in the arena spikes. People know his name; they know who he is. I feel bad that I didn’t.
At center ice, he settles into himself, completely in the zone. His gaze sweeps outward, but the gleam in his eye tells me he sees nothing but the ice. Back straight, posture tall, there’s no tension there—no nerves, no doubt. The large crowd doesn’t rattle him. This moment doesn’t intimidate him. It calls to him. He’s been waiting for it. Wants it. Was built for it.
The music begins.
He doesn’t rush. He builds speed around the rink. At exactly the right second, he explodes upward—a tight rotation, so fast it makes me dizzy just watching. He comes down clean and solid, not even a hint of a stumble.
I’m impressed. So impressed at the handling he has over his own body.
Everyone claps at his smooth landing, and it quiets again as he continues his routine.
Each move is flawless. Executed with perfection. He commits to what he does, doesn’t hesitate. Not a single hint of doubt. Nico knows he’s going to land it every time… and so he does. When he goes… he goes.
Defense is about reading people. Timing. Trusting angles before the play even happens. He does something similar, just in a different way. All on his own. He trusts himself fully. I trust my teammates fully. Without it, we couldn’t play together.
Midway through the routine, he hits a combination. A jump into another without pause, which draws a bigger reaction from fans. I lean forward, needing to be closer.
I wish I was right up front, not all the way back here. I like seeing, but I want to feel it. I want to feel what he’s feeling, and maybe if I was right there, at the edge of the ice, I could.
He finishes with this flawless back flip, landing on one skate, that has my jaw dropping and the audience gasping. I couldn’t land something like that in a million years, and he did it like his body was made for it.
It shouldn’t affect me so much, but my god… I am speechless.
When the music ends, he holds his final position, arms out, chin up, smiling proudly. He breathes hard but steadily, no doubt muscles burning from the exertion.
The score flashes after what feels like forever. Big numbers. Bigger than the other skaters got. His team celebrates with each other, jumping up and down, hugging and clapping. Canada’s section is losing their minds, throwing flowers onto the ice like they already know he’s won.
Honestly, I think he has, and by the smile on his face, he knows it too.
And when he lifts his head and scans the athlete section, he finds me like he knew where I was the entire time.
It’s freezing out tonight, but I wait by the doors anyway. I’d wait here all night if it meant talking to him for even a few minutes.
Ever since I saw him that first time, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. The more I get, the more I want. He’s sunshine, and that is addicting for someone like me who craves it but can’t make it on their own.
I’m not depressed and I never thought I was, I just… struggle to see the good in things sometimes.
I shift on my feet, trying to keep warm. People walk by here and there, but most are already gone. It’s late, and there’s no one else performing tonight, but everything starts again bright and early tomorrow morning.
