I wave him off and continue running, determined to go until there’s nothing left. The guys disappear down the tunnel one by one until I’m alone. The way I like it.
It’s another fifteen minutes before my body finally starts to quit, forcing me off the ice. As I remove my helmet, sweat drips from my hairline, blurring my vision. I walk through the tunnel, my covered blades hitting the marbled floors with a clacking sound. Pushing through the doors, I use the collar of my jersey to wipe my face.
I turn to head toward the boards and stop cold.
She’s here.
She’s crouched low in front of the skate sharpener like it’s second nature, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a fine layer of sweat clinging to the back of her neck. My gaze runs over her, taking in the form-fitting long-sleeve tee and stretch pants that hug her body just right. But it’s the tattoo peeking from above her waistband that holds my attention.
I’m not close by any means, but I can still make out the design from here. A semicolon symbol. It’s small and black, inked in the dead center of her spine. The thought clouds my mind beforeI can push it away, and all I can think about is when she got it and if it’s the only one. If I recall, she didn’t like tattoos as a kid, claiming that only bad people get them.
Does that mean she’s bad? She certainly isn’t innocent. Has that sweet little girl long since disappeared?
“Yo, Sam,” someone calls out.
Sam sighs before he can even finish, already fed up with it all. She’s only been sentenced to being our new equipment manager for three weeks now, and the fellas haven’t wasted a second making her time here hell. That’s what she gets. Do stupid things, win stupid prizes.
Jackson was a pain in everyone’s ass. He’s smug, crass, and a little sadistic, but he’s a beast on the ice. So while I also wanted to punch him in the face most days, we needed him to ensure a win.
“Water bottles are empty.” The voice is smug and too loud.
I shift to follow the voice. It’s Ryker and one of his little minions. It’s not surprising he’s the first one to really go at her; just like Jackson, he’s also a menace, always playing practical jokes and pushing boundaries just far enough to avoid actual trouble. But this isn’t one of his usual stunts. There’s something meaner in his tone today. Somethingcolder.
He tosses one at her without looking. It clatters to the floor at her feet.
“Dude, give her a break. Can’t you see she’s busy?” His buddy snickers. “She’s got skates to sniff or something.”
Laughter erupts as they circle her like sharks smelling blood.
“That’s what we’re calling it now?” Ryker says, nodding toward the blades she’s holding. “Working?”
Sam doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just tightens her grip on the skate and sets it on the sharpener with mechanical focus. She inhales slowly, her spine straight but stiff.
“I’ll get to the water bottles in a minute,” she says, low and even, without turning around.
“No,” Ryker snaps. “You’ll get to them now. Or I’ll tell Coach you’re slacking.”
“She doesn’t give a damn about the job,” Issac says, sneering. “She got what she wanted, found a way to weasel her way close to the team.”
“Classic puck bunny move,” Ryk adds. “Start some drama. Play the victim. End up in the locker room.”
Her silence only fuels them.
“You hear me?” Ryker bumps her shoulder, harder this time. “Hello?”
The skate slips, sending sparks and a loud grinding sound through the air. I flinch, but my feet don’t move. Sam juts back before that could turn bad.
“Whoops.” Ryker smirks then slaps Issac’s arm with the back of his hand. “Got to be more careful.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Sam shoots up, standing her ground, toe to toe with her bully.
“You. Whore.”
Before he could dot the period in his sentence, Sam responds, her tongue just as sharp. “That’s funny, I don’t see your mother anywhere.”
Ryker lunges forward, his hands balled into fists.
“Watch yourself. That was my brother you injured,” he seethes. It’s low and full of hate, but I can still hear every word.
