Page 67 of Enemies on Ice

I know that feeling.

I know exactly what it feels like to be the one on the ice, to be the one incrementally getting better, to chase a technique through weeks of failed attempts until the morning it suddenly works. Your body doing something it couldn’t do yesterday.

I spent years chasing that feeling. Living off it.

And there are a few mornings where standing at the boards watching someone else get better feels like pressing your hand against a window.

Making a difference, yes. But not quite close enough.

“Elida?” One of the girls, pausing at the blue line. “Are we starting?”

Twelve faces, waiting, skates on and ready.

“Yes,” I say. “Sorry. From the top.”

I push off onto the ice and find my position. The session starts and I pour everything into it - corrections, demonstrations, and words of encouragement. But afterward, walking home in the cold, I let myself think it properly for the first time.

I miss it.

I miss it even more when it comes to the guy’s team skating session. I wish I could escape into my own routines and not think about other people. Especially him.

The team files in loudly but I keep my eyes on my notes.

Then he’s there.

I know without even looking. That’s the problem - I’ve developed some kind of involuntary awareness of exactly whereMateo Russo is in any given space and it hasn’t switched off just because I need it to.

“Alright,” I say to the group, to anyone except him. “Edge progressions. Full rink. Both directions. You know the drill.”

They push off.

I move through the session the way I always do. I know I’m good at this, and the professionalism holds because it has to.

I get to Chen. His outside edge is off. I tell him so and he fixes it immediately and nods his thanks. His expression is careful. He’s noticing more than he should.

I move on, going to other players.

When it gets to Russo, I call out corrections instead of going over. I find reasons to move in the other direction because the alternative is standing close to him and I can’t. I can’t right now.

Calloway runs the second half of the session, and I stand at the boards with my notebook and watch.

Russo is skating well - visibly better than he was when I first arrived. I did that.

Whatever else is complicated between us, that’s not complicated.

Calloway calls time.

The team disperses toward the gate and I gather my things. I’m already moving before the last of them have stepped off. I’m through the gate and into the corridor before anyone can catch up.

I walk fast.

My hand is shaking when I push through the door to the outside.

MATEO

Miles Chen makes pasta.

He doesn’t ask if I want to come over, just texts7pmand a pasta emoji, which is Chen’s version ofI’ve been watching you fall apart for days and we’re going to talk about it whether you like it or not.