Take the Ice by bellamarie117.pdf

Take the Ice by bellamarie117

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5773626/1/

x-x-x

I had never given much thought to my life "after." It never seemed like a

pressing issue. When fate hands you a dream so far beyond your imagination, it's

difficult to believe it will come to an end and throw you right back into the

everyday hum drum of normalcy.

Normal. That was a concept I was completely unfamiliar with.

Normal for me was waking up at five a.m. to be on the ice before the sun rose. It

was spending hours stretching and practicing, training and conditioning while

others commuted to classrooms and offices. It was standing for costume fittings,

listening to musical selections until my ears rang in order to find the perfect

selection that would match the tone of the next piece. It was butting heads with

coaches and choreographers. It was aching muscles, frustrations, and

disappointments, always striving to be better. It was my life…until now.

For as long as I could remember I had been a skater. I loved the ice-the smooth,

glassy surface provided a whole different world for me and it was better than any

dream I could conjure. I felt a joy every time I set the metal of my blades to the

frozen surface. My mother, Renee, picked up on my interest when I was very

young and jumped at the opportunity to push and prod me onto competitive

levels. Private lessons with the best coaches, consultations with past champions,

different choreographers getting thrown at me left and right to come up with

perfect programs, and analysts to review them to ensure we could squeeze out

every possible point. Nothing but the best for Renee Swan's daughter.

As much as some would criticize her for being a stage mom, projecting her own

dreams and aspirations onto her daughter, I couldn't blame Renee for her

actions. They brought me to higher peaks than I could have achieved without

her. The competition was never what drove me; in fact the politics off the ice

would have beaten me down much earlier if Renee hadn't been there to take on

the brunt of it. My drive was simply the feeling I got when my skates glided over

the ice, allowing me to move in ways that would never occur on solid ground. No,

I could never blame Renee. Even now when the rug was pulled out from under

me with no cushion to fall back on.

My mother had been a skater before me. She had promise but never proved to be

a serious competitor. She'd never had the resources to back her and allow for the

opportunities it took to become a force in the sport. Instead she'd gotten

pregnant with me and married my father young. The regret of the dreams she

gave up ate away at her until she could no longer tolerate life simply as a wife

and mother. When she took notice of my love of skating and spark of natural

talent on the ice she jumped at the chance to make me the champion she never

was.

Renee met Charlie Swan when she was eighteen. He had come to Minnesota from

Washington for law enforcement training; she had lived there her entire life and

dreamed of excitement away from what she knew. They met one night while out

with friends. A whirlwind romance, a positive pregnancy test, and a quickie city

hall wedding ensured that Charlie would remain in the Midwest.

I'd grown up in Minnesota until the age of nine. When my parents divorced,

Renee and I moved to Colorado to pursue my skating future; Charlie moved back

to his hometown of Forks, Washington. His job as chief of police kept him

satisfied, and he enjoyed the familiarity of the city was raised in. Perhaps that

was the foundation of the difference between Charlie and Renee: he was content

in the life he knew and she felt a restless need to experience new things. I was

the balance between the two. While I enjoyed the travel and new experiences

that came with competitive skating, I longed for the familiarity of the only place

I'd ever been able to call home. I ached to feel some sense of belonging and

stability.

It's been years since I've been back, Renee despised her hometown and the

memories it held for her, and with Charlie gone there really was no reason to

return. As my standing rose and my reputation grew to the level where my name

was well known and always linked with skating, Renee kept my schedule packed

enough that it was difficult to catch a break. Charlie would come and meet us for

long weekends every now and again, but even those had become more rare.

A monotonous drone over the plane's intercom shook me from my reverie,

bringing the dull throb of my knee back to the forefront of my mind.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be landing at the

Minneapolis/St Paul airport in about fifteen minutes. Local time is five-eighteen

p.m. and the current temperature sits at fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Please return

your luggage to their proper location and place your seatbacks and tray tables in

their upright position. We hope you have had a pleasant flight and enjoy your

stay in the Twin Cities."

Home. I'd finally made it. It took a lot of convincing and smooth talking to get

Renee on my side for this one. Some might think I'd want to be close to my

family at a time like this, but as much as I loved Charlie, Washington would never

be home to me, I'd only been there a handful of times. Being close to Renee right

now would probably aggravate me rather than provide any sense of comfort.

Minnesota was not only the middle ground between the two, but it was where I

remember being happiest, before Renee and Charlie turned on each other, and

before my life was completely absorbed into the skating world. Here I'd just been

Bella, and I was hoping to find that again. Of course it also helped that the best

doctors and physical therapists we could find resided here.

I'd be meeting with Dr. Cullen on Monday to assess my injury and give me a

prognosis for my recovery time. I already knew though. The second my skate hit

that rough spot on the ice I saw the end, and "after" came slamming into my

immediate future.

It was still so clear in my head. A lazy afternoon practice in late fall; it was a lull

in the season-the calm before the storm, if you will. These were some of my

favorite practices. I'd set whatever music I felt like and just free skate around the

ice. Of course I'd still have to throw in the jumps and leaps and sit spins in order

to stay in shape, but there was no choreography to remember, no drills to run, no

repetition of a single move until it was perfection every single time. I could just

skate.

If I closed my eyes now I could see the ice-empty except for me. The rink

practically abandoned as it was nearing the end of the day. Renee and my trainer

sat in the bleachers, talking over the next set of torturous drills to add to my

routine no doubt. The strains of "Swan Lake" echoed through the arena speakers.

We'd recently selected the arrangement for this season's free skate and I

distracted myself by imagining the movements that would match perfectly to

each note.

I'd set an easy pace around the ice, building up a little speed as I rounded the

corner to extend my leg up into a fan spiral when I felt my blade catch on a

rough patch. My skating leg stayed glued to the spot, while my body and free leg

aimed to continue their intended direction. I felt my world give out from under

me-my arms flying out to catch myself as my extended leg tensed and tried to

retract before impacting on the ground. My reflexes could only act so quickly

though and the next thing I knew, I'd collapsed onto the ice, the full weight of my

body landing on my ankle to twist it in an unnatural direction. I remember the

sickening crack of my head on the ice an instant later and the faint cry of concern

from the stands before I felt myself float into the darkness to the strings of

Tchaikovsky lulling in the background.

The screeching of the landing wheels connecting with the runway jerked me back

to attention; a series of rapid blinks clearing the vision from my head to bring me

back to the present. I really needed to reign in on the daydreaming.

As the plane came to a halt at the gate I stretched my arms up and glanced

around at the other passengers gathering their things from the overhead bins and

hurrying to depart as quickly as possible. I'd been lucky enough to have two

empty seats in my aisle and didn't feel the need to get up and out of my seat

quite yet. I waited until the initial rush died down before gathering my messenger

bag from the floor in front of my seat and shrugging into my coat, figuring it'd be

easier to do it now and deal with being a little too warm than trying to struggle

into it while balancing my crutches and luggage in baggage claim.

I realized that I never even bothered to pull out my book or iPod on the trip. I

laughed somberly as I mused to myself about the very real possibility that to the

other passengers I probably looked like a zombie by staring off into space for the

duration of the two and a half hour flight from Jacksonville to the Twin Cities.

You're really starting to lose it, Bella.

Pushing myself up to stand, I hobbled into the aisle, careful to keep my weight on

my good leg while I groped around the overhead bin for my crutches. I was never

the most coordinated person when it came to moving over solid ground and the

crutches definitely hindered what little grace I could usually pass off. I managed

to make my way down the aisle and off the plane, only catching my bag on the

seat once and stumbling twice.

Improvement.

After retrieving my suitcase from baggage claim I stared down at it, pondering

just how I was going to make it out to a cab with my messenger bag, a duffle, a

rolling suitcase and no free hands.

"Need a hand?"

I glanced slightly to my left, polite smile in place, ready to decline the offer purely

out of habit, only to be met with the purest shade of emerald green I've ever

encountered. Beneath the friendly warmth in those eyes was a depth and

intensity that I'd never experienced in another person's gaze. I'd never taken the

time to really stare into people's eyes before-always just passing glances that

barely told me the general shade of their irises. Now I found it impossible to stop

myself from getting lost in that vast expanse of green.

I was shaken out of my reverie when a fellow traveler bumped against my crutch

in his rush to grab his bag off the rotating luggage ramp. The suddenness paired

with my weak knee made for a bad combination and I felt my weight start to

collapse before I could react, the bumped crutch clattering against the metal

barrier of the carousel as I lost my grip on it.

I threw out my arm to try and catch myself and met a warm, solid frame

suddenly surrounding me. Looking up, I was once again met with those eyes. I

tore my gaze away from them to quickly take in their surroundings. What I found

was worth much more than a passing glance, but I figured I'd already

embarrassed myself enough and mumbled a quiet "sorry" before pushing off his

chest to try and steady myself.

"Are you alright?" the concern evident in his velvety baritone voice. He'd yet to

remove his arms from where they'd encircled me to catch my fall.

"Yes, of course. I'm fine," I insisted, still straining against his hold. His embrace,

though out of concern for my safety rather than one entered out of passion or

desire, set my heart racing. I feared that if I let myself stay in his arms I'd lose

my senses entirely.

I cleared my throat nervously, managing to quietly squeak out, "Thanks," as I

looked down at his arms around my torso.

He must have realized that he'd yet to remove them because he retracted his

hold very suddenly.

"Sorry about that, you startled me for a minute there," he rushed out, nervously?

He bent down to gather my fallen crutches and I took advantage of his distraction

to let out a long exhale of breath I hadn't been aware I'd been holding.

"Here we go," the green eyed stranger said as he offered out my crutches he'd

retrieved from where they'd fallen. I quickly arranged them under my arms and

leaned my weight back on them. Even months after the accident I was still

wobbly on my own two feet without their assistance.

"Thank you, again," I said, glancing up from under the fringe of bangs that had

fallen over my eyes. I noticed his hand lift up towards my face before he rapidly

pulled it back and stuck it in his pocket.

"Sure, no problem" he assured me as his free hand went up to ruffle through his

hair. It was a messy arrangement of a strange color-not brown, not red or

orange, but almost like a bronze tone. Like his eyes, it was a shade the likes of

which I'd never seen before. I found myself wanting to replace his hand with my

own and smooth the stray tendrils away from his strong forehead. I even started

lifting my hand before catching myself and combing through my own waves in a

nervous habit.

His face was completely distracting and devastatingly handsome. His nose was

slightly crooked, like it had been broken at one point and his jaw was strong and

chiseled with the faintest covering of scruff, not the deliberate type where it was

neatly groomed and intended, but more like he hadn't remembered to shave in a

couple days. My desire to run my fingers through his hair was replaced with an

ache to nuzzle my cheek against his to feel it scratch against my smooth skin.

"Uh, did you need some help? It looks like you've got your hands pretty full."

"Oh, no. I mean, yeah, I do…uh you don't have to help though, I'm sure you've

got places to be," I stammered, cringing a bit at my own awkwardness. Why

couldn't I just suck it up and graciously accept the gorgeous stranger's help? Oh,

right, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a habit of always taking care of myself

without assistance.

"Really, it's no problem," the gorgeous stranger said. I still hesitated, my

eyebrow lifted at him in question. "I promise, there's no where I'm in a rush to

be," he urged.

"Sure, that'd be great. Thanks," I gave in. "Are you waiting on your bags?" I'd

barely taken my gaze from his face since he caught me and as my eyes swept

down I saw an oversized duffle bag at his feet next to my own bags. He easily

hefted it to his shoulder like it weighed nothing, even though it looked fairly

heavy.

"Nope, I've got it all right here," he said as he patted the bag before reaching

down to raise the tow bar on my rolling suitcase and lifting my own duffle to rest

on top of it. I grabbed the strap of my messenger bag before he could add that to

his load as well. I wasn't completely handicapped and I certainly wasn't going to

let him carry everything.

"Is someone picking you up or are you parked?" he asked as he gestured me

ahead to the sliding automatic doors leading out.

"No, I'm just going to grab a cab I think," I responded, trying to simultaneously

watch where I was putting my crutches, and gauge the bustling crowds around

me. The last thing I needed to do was totally biff it and embarrass myself further.

"Did you need a ride somewhere? I have my car parked in the overnight lot."

My eyes snapped up to his with a mixture of surprise and confusion. This must be

the "Minnesota-nice" everyone's always referring to. Chivalry apparently still lived

on in this state.

"No, really, a cab will be just fine," I assured him and he looked over to me,

nodding. His face had a look that almost seemed like…disappointment? I shook it

off as my own silliness, but not wanting to seem ungrateful told him that I

appreciated the offer.

As we hit the doors, the warmth of the overheated airport startlingly gave way to

the bitter cold that lay outside and I cursed the fact that I left my mittens buried

in my bag. I could already feel my ears growing pink in the frosty air and I

gasped in a breath at the sudden change in temperature.

He looked down at me with one side of his mouth lifted in a little smirk at my

obvious reaction to the cold. "Where are you coming from?" His tone held a hint

of humor as if he found my discomfort amusing.

"Uh, here originally, but it's been a long time. I guess I forgot what January in

Minnesota feels like," my face flushed, both from the cold and from sheepishness

over what a wussy little girl I was acting like. It's not like I hadn't grown up in ice

arenas and frozen spaces all my life. Suck it up, Bells.

"Where have you been lately if not Minnesota then?" he inquired, a hint of real

interest and curiosity to his tone. He didn't seem to be asking just to make small

talk. And who would make small talk standing out front of an airport in below

freezing temperatures, really?

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