✧ new season ✧
ivy had chosen the top row on purpose, legs folded beneath her, hoodie sleeves swallowed past her knuckles, the cold already seeping through the metal bleachers even though she’d barely been sitting five minutes. the hockey stadium was empty in that particular, hollow way that made every sound feel too loud—footsteps echoing down concrete corridors, the scrape of skate guards, the dull thud of double bags hitting the floor. she figured those had to be her dad’s new players arriving, one by one, shadows moving through the tunnel below. she scrolled through instagram without really absorbing any of it, pausing every few seconds to glance down, curiosity pulling her eyes back to the rink like gravity.
it didn’t take long for them to appear. bodies in motion, easy confidence, nervous energy masked by jokes and shoulder bumps. pads went on, helmets clipped, gloves tugged tight. ivy studied them the way she always did—quietly, observantly, filing away first impressions she knew she’d need later. there was the one who walked like he owned the place before he’d even stepped on the ice. the one who lingered near the wall, adjusting his gear twice as carefully as necessary. the one already laughing too loud. the one whose eyes never left the ice, like it was a promise he intended to keep.
then her dad skated out.
adam abbot took the center of the rink like it was instinct, skates already laced, movements fluid and familiar, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in the way only someone who belonged somewhere could manage. ivy felt that familiar tug in her chest at the sight of him—pride, comfort, something steady. he planted his skates and looked around, lips curling into that half-smirk that always meant he was about to enjoy himself.
“ladies,” he called, voice cutting clean through the space, “get ready. i’m waiting.”
laughter broke out immediately, sticks tapping the ice as players pushed off, circling, stretching, shaking off nerves. ivy leaned forward now, phone forgotten in her lap, watching as the group gathered. when they were all there, her dad clapped once, sharp and commanding.
“i’m adam abbot,” he said. “sadly for you, i’ll be your coach from now on.” more laughter. “call me whatever you want—just avoid nicknames.”
he paused, then lifted his chin toward the bleachers.
“and there,” he added, pointing straight at her.
ivy’s stomach dropped.
“that’s where your new social media manager is,” adam continued easily. “iv, come say hi. they should know who they’re supposed to be scared of.”
heat rushed to her face instantly. every helmet turned. someone whistled. ivy shot her dad a glare that promised payback, but he only looked pleased. she stood anyway, heart thudding, the walk down the bleachers feeling far longer than it should have. every step echoed. every glance burned. she squared her shoulders when she reached the boards, resting one hand against the cold metal.
“hey,” she said, forcing a steady smile. “i’m ivy.”
there were waves, nods, murmurs of greeting—and then her eyes locked with someone who wasn’t looking away.
avery was leaning casually on his stick, helmet tucked under his arm, posture relaxed in a way that felt effortless. there was something open about him, something warm. when their gazes met, he smiled slowly, easy and unguarded, like he already knew her. ivy’s breath caught before she could stop it, something unfamiliar fluttering low in her stomach.
“nice to finally meet you,” he called, voice smooth with a faint country lilt. “guess we better behave now.”
ivy laughed, surprised at herself. “don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
his grin widened, unmistakably pleased.
to his side stood sully—tall, quiet, shoulders slightly hunched like he wasn’t sure where to put himself. he gave her a small, almost shy wave, then immediately looked down at his skates. there was something gentle about him, something observant. ivy clocked him instantly as someone safe, someone solid.
milo pushed forward next, confidence written into every movement, gloves resting on the boards as he smirked. “so you’re the one making us look good online,” he said bluntly. “about time.”
“only if you give me something to work with,” ivy shot back.
milo laughed, sharp and approving. “i like her.”
nico nodded at her from just behind him, expression calm, eyes focused. even standing still, he looked disciplined, purposeful. ivy filed that away too—someone who cared deeply about the place, about the team.
practice started soon after. the ice filled with motion, skates slicing clean lines, sticks clashing, bodies colliding. ivy moved along the boards, phone in hand now, filming, snapping photos, already slipping into her role. but every so often—between shots, between notes—she felt it. avery’s eyes finding hers again. brief, intentional, just long enough to make her pulse skip. subtle enough to be private.
by the time practice wrapped up, the rink buzzed with leftover energy. players peeled off gear, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls. ivy lingered until most of them had cleared out, then made her way down toward the locker room. her dad was untying his skates when he looked up and grinned.
“survived your first day?” he asked.
“barely,” she said, smiling as she sat on the bench beside him. without thinking too hard about it, she reached for a pair of skates tucked beneath the bench—her own. muscle memory kicked in as she laced them up, movements automatic, comforting. when she stood, the ice felt like home under her feet.
adam raised a brow. “oh yeah?”
she pushed off lightly, gliding out. “race you.”
he laughed, already following her. “you’re on.”
they took off together, side by side, the sound of blades cutting ice sharp and familiar. ivy leaned forward, laughing as the cold air burned her lungs, legs pumping, balance perfect. she crossed the far line first, spinning around triumphantly just as her dad slowed behind her.
“i win,” she declared, breathless.
before he could argue, cheers erupted from the tunnel. the team had lingered, watching, sticks tapping the boards in approval. ivy froze for a second, stunned—then laughed, cheeks aching as she lifted her arms in mock victory. her dad skated over and pulled her into a tight hug, laughing against her hair.
the sound of cheering filled the rink, echoing and bright, and ivy stood there in the middle of it all—ice beneath her feet, her dad’s arms around her, something new and electric sparking just under the surface of everything she thought she knew.