Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Nine

The rink was quiet when Elara stepped inside, her skates slung over her shoulder and nerves tight in her stomach. Cold air bit at her cheeks as she crossed the ice, lacing up quickly on the bench.

She was early.

Of course she was.

Her breath hung in the air as she started to warm up, slow circles around the rink until her body remembered its rhythm. She was mid-spin when she noticed someone watching her from the edge of the ice.

It was Thiago.

He raised a brow and offered a lazy nod at her, a water bottle in hand, already dressed in his Viremont hockey jacket. "Morning, Calviero."

Elara skated over, cheeks flushed. "Thought I was alone."

"You were. For about six minutes." He smirked. "Coach told us to show up early. Not everyone listens."

Soon, the rest of the team began trickling in, half-asleep and dragging their gear. The air filled with groans and laughter, blades slicing as they stepped onto the ice.

Elias came in last, jaw clenched tight, helmet under his arm. He barely looked at Elara.

"Alright! This is Elara Calviero and she's here to hlep you guys with your edge-control and balance." Coach Garcia's voice echoed through the rink. "Warm-up drills first. Follow Elara."

Some of the boys grumbled.

Others watched her curiously.

One of them, a tall boy with sandy-blond hair and a sharp grin skated beside her and offered a low whistle. "If you can teach Elias to stop tripping over his own ego, you're a miracle worker."

A few of the guys laughed.

Elara smiled, unsure if it was meant to be kind or cruel, but grateful for the break in tension either way.

She started the edge drills, showing them how to shift their weight, how to keep tight control around turns. The team followed - some better than others.

They were halfway through a balance drill when Elias pushed too hard on a pivot, lost control, and slammed into the boards with a sharp thud.

"Shit," he hissed, brushing himself off quickly. His ears burned red as the others tried - and failed - not to laugh.

Coach Garcia didn't even blink. "You think speed replaces control? Let Elara coach the damn team next time."

Silence.

Elias's jaw tightened like he was chewing broken glass as he glared at Elara. She stood frozen, red in the face, not wanting this, not needing the spotlight like that.

Practice ended soon after. Elias left without a word, his skates loud and angry on the floor.

Elara bent to unlace her boots, trying to disappear, but a pair of skates coasted to a stop beside her.

"Hey," came a voice - light, teasing, but not unkind.

She looked up to see the tall, sandy-haired boy who'd joked earlier. He popped off his helmet, revealing messy curls and bright gray eyes.

"That was impressive," he said. "Like... actually impressive. Most of us can't toe-pick to save our lives."

Another boy - darker, leaner, with tired eyes and a mouth always twitching at the edge of a grin - joined him, nudging his friend. "Yeah. Don't mind Elias. He's only got, like, one emotion and that's rage."

Elara blinked, "Aren't you guys his friends? I've seen you sit with him at lunch."

The first one shrugged. "We're on his line. Doesn't mean we support all his tantrums. How he reacted to you was unfair."