From the Icebreaker book! Have fun loves🤍
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@AllysonxThe first thing that hits me is the cold. Not the familiar, comforting cold of an empty rink at 5 AM, but the intrusive kind that seeps through my training jacket as I step into the common room adjacent to the main ice.
I’m already on edge. My blades are freshly sharpened, my laces are tied exactly three pulls tighter than comfortable, and I’ve run through my program in my head six times this morning.
The second thing that hits me is the sound.
Laughter. Loud, boisterous, chaotic laughter. A wave of deep voices and thudding footsteps echoing off the cinderblock walls. I glance through the open doorway leading from the equipment hall and freeze.
A pack of them. At least a dozen guys in various states of gear—some in full pads, others just in hoodies and jeans—are spilling into the common room like they own the place. They’re loud. They’re taking up space. They’re everywhere.
My jaw tightens.
The university sent the email yesterday: Due to unforeseen maintenance at the Eastwood Arena, the men’s hockey team will be sharing ice time at the main rink until further notice.
Unforeseen maintenance. Right.
I grip the strap of my skate bag harder and step into the room, scanning for Coach Skinner. She’s by the bulletin board, already talking to a broad-shouldered man I don’t recognize—a man with a clipboard and a stern expression that doesn’t soften when he sees me.
Coach Skinner
clips her pen to the board Y/n. There you are.
Her voice is clipped, professional. But I catch the way she glances at the hockey team with a barely concealed grimace.
Coach Skinner
We have new… company, as you can see.
The broad-shouldered man turns to me fully. He’s older, maybe late forties, with a weathered face and the kind of eyes that have seen a thousand fights on the ice. He offers a curt nod.
Coach Faulkner
Y/n. I’m Coach Faulkner. Looks like we’ll be sharing the ice for a while.
Behind him, I see one of the hockey players—a tall guy with messy dark hair and an easy grin—nudge his buddy in the ribs and tilt his chin toward me. He’s not staring, not rudely, but I feel his attention like a weight.
The guy next to him, shorter with red hair, says something I can’t hear, and the dark-haired one laughs, a warm, low sound that cuts through the chatter.
Coach Skinner
sighs We’ll make it work. Y/n, Aaron is already on the ice warming up. Go ahead and start your stretches—we’ll discuss schedule adjustments after first period.
I nod, not trusting my voice. I keep my eyes forward and walk past the group of hockey players, my blades clicking against the tile floor.
I’m halfway to the door leading to the rink when a voice cuts through the noise behind me.
???
Hey.
I pause. Turn.
It’s him. The dark-haired one. He’s separated from his group and is standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket. Up close, I can see he’s got a sharp jaw, a splatter of freckles across his nose, and a smile that looks like it belongs in a toothpaste commercial.
???
The hockey gear’s already been moved into the east storage room. I think some of your stuff got shuffled around. Didn’t want you to panic when you couldn’t find your bag.
I blink at him.
Y/n, internally
Who the hell is this guy?
???
extends a hand Nate. Captain of the team you’re apparently hosting. that smile widens I promise we’re house-trained.