Dana Mentink - Race for the Gold

There was one thing and one thing only that could drive every thought and care from her psyche, and that was training. Long, grueling, bone-crunching training. The surge of fire in her belly urged her on as she dressed and packed her gear for the oval. Her second pair of skates, her only other pair, was packed safely in her bag, along with the EpiPen she’d fortunately never had to use.

Needles, she thought with a shudder. A person could live a very happy life without ever having a close encounter with one. She’d had plenty after the hit-and-run accident. Cubby grudgingly awakened and ate his cat food topped with a small piece of chicken she’d swiped from the kitchen. In stealth mode, she let herself out, locking the door behind her.

The other doors along the hallway were closed. At 5:00 a.m., the girls would be clinging to those last few hours of sleep. No sound of anyone stirring, even Mama Love, the team chef, who she knew liked to get a good start on the breakfast preparations. Laney took an apple and a hard-boiled egg from the snack drawer in the fridge and let herself outside into the cold.

“Good morning.”

She jumped a step backward from the security guard.

“You scared me.”

He smiled politely. “Sorry. Checking on the dorms. Going out?”

She nodded. “To the ice.”

“So early?”

“I like to start my day before everyone else.”

“Guess that’s the way champions are made.” He offered to escort her.

“No, thanks....” she started, until she considered the tongue-lashing she’d get from both Max and her father for puttering around unattended in the solitary early-morning hours. “Actually, that would be great,” she said, shouldering her gear.

They walked in silence and she slipped inside and took a deep breath, waving at the guard as he left. Though most people wouldn’t agree, she knew ice had a smell and she savored it now, sucking in a deep lungful of air and letting it tingle through her as it might have done for all the world-class athletes who had trained in this very spot.

She made her way past the bleachers toward the multilane track that circled the rink, planning an easy run to warm up, but the familiar sound of blades skimming the ice stopped her.

Max was alone on the ice, blade positioned, arm crooked in front of him, focused. His form was perfect, balanced and contained, ready to explode from the start line. Her stomach clenched as she watched. One second and the imaginary buzzer must have signaled his mind because he propelled himself forward and shot across the ice.

He went hard for several meters, then drifted into a glide. She could see what others wouldn’t, the tightness in his left leg that prevented him from cornering properly, his crouch not quite low enough, not quite there.

His head dropped along with her heart, and she knew he came here when no one else was around so they wouldn’t see Blaze, former world-class competitor, struggling to complete a turn properly. She drew back into the shadow of the bleachers to allow him his dignity.

Lord, let him see he’s meant to be more.

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