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Ice Capades (HH)

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Hello, peacocks!

You are most welcome to the latest edition of the Hockey Hunk! I am glad that the series is updating with regularity (well besides last week) and I am very pleased that you are still coming back to read the story. It means a lot to me, and it makes me happy to see you still want to read! That's great! I wouldn't be writing this story if it didn't serve a purpose, and that is both the expression of my literary ideas, and your greater amusement and enlightenment. A win-win situation, really, hence, I do hope you enjoy the read and I look forward to your comments!

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The bag wasn't the most convenient thing to take on the bus, but I really didn't have a choice. I should really get my pussy ass together and go look at some new cars soon, I was slowly starting to come to realize why everyone always complained about the state of public transport in urban American towns. I still stuffed myself and the bag onto one of the seats and kept to myself as the buildings passed away and I tried to decide what to feel at this point.

Excitement?

Fear?

Happiness?

It'd been a really long time, relatively speaking at least, considering how often I usually did this, and how long the break had been between then and now. I didn't even really care much about the strange looks from a weasel who was suspicious of my bag. I could even chuckle away the fact that when I'd mentioned my plans to Cobb he had pretty much crawled over to me through the phone with his motherly warnings about a 'a terrible blood clot!' Where'd he read that? General Interest? Guh. I really should stop reporting my every move to him these days. He worried too much.

I felt stupid about the fact that I felt this jittery about something I was meant to simply enjoy. This was meant to be fun, and relaxing, and something to get the blood pumping and sore muscles going after a long day at work. All in good spirits, eh?

As a result of these thoughts, I felt nervous as shit when I got out of the bus, bag and all, and looked at the big white building of almost Olympic proportions, flag poles and spires and all. The star-spangled banners were still tonight. The air was tepid and not really moving much. It was good for weird feelings itching under my skin.

The noises, the smells, everything was familiar inside, in the hallways and the locker room. The sounds of the clattering doors and the air conditioning struggling to keep the building cold enough to maintain the ice and keep the air from getting funky, pawsteps on tile and concrete, doors being opened and shut.

I put my bag down onto the bench and zipped it open to start the process of gearing up. I took my time with it all. It felt good to be doing it again, and the stuff felt good on me. Jock, cup, pads, shirt, every piece I strapped on and made sure it was secure. It might have been extra trouble to haul it all with me, especially on the bus, but I wanted it to feel right. I wanted to do this properly even if I planned to simply skate around and maybe shoot a few pucks. I hadn't even brought my stick, because I had to set the limit at something, but I knew where the spare crappy ones were kept, the ones they kept around for the kids to borrow when they wanted to fool around with hockey.

The helmet came on the last. My ear felt a bit strange settling into it, but once I got it strapped on and adjusted, even that part started to feel good. The foam pads inside pressed on the right places. My head was still the same size, the shin guards had needed some adjustment because I seemed to have lost a size or two during my convalescence.

Funny word for getting better, that. Rory would probably be amused if I used it. I smiled a bit. I remembered the thing we'd done in this very same locker room the time I'd taken him over to see the game, us against the college guys. That'd been an awesome game and a fun night, even though we'd ended up arguing afterwards.

Guess that couldn't be helped.

I stood up from the bench and felt pleasantly confident on my skates, even with the blade guards on. I had to sit back to tighten up the laces on the right one, but then, on my next try, they felt alright. it was time to go.

I wobbled along the dimly lit concrete corridor, from the locker room over to the actual rink, with a stop on the way to grab the stick and a puck from the storage closet. The cool air made my furs stir, but it was a comforting, familiar feeling. It was the open night on the ice, which meant that there was the usual collection of kids having fun, a few teens practicing their moves, a bear mother with her two cubs she was teaching to skate and who seemed to be making good progress, especially since the girl with the red skates managed to skate backwards onto her sister while they were at it.

"Susie!"

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I decided to give them a wide berth. There was plenty of room in the rink tonight, so I didn't really need to be afraid of accidentally ramming onto them. I wasn't that rusty when it came to my skills. Hopefully my blades weren't, either. I slipped off my guards, dropped my puck and went onto the ice, though not with a joyful burst of energy like usual, but carefully, taking my cues from the ice. I did have my stick for safety, too, though I made a decision not to lean onto it too much. I had to prove myself that I could still do this. The doctor had given me an all-clear to go on the ice as long as I wasn't going to be playing any real contact sports for now. I was happy enough to do this compromise, as long as I could get to do some skating again.

I started with a couple of slow circles around the rink, safe enough a choice, and let me feel the cool air brushing against my muzzle, even at that speed.

Nice!

Back when we were about five or six, my father got skates for me and Cobb. Unsurprisingly, it was my brother who picked it up faster, of course. He also got bored with it easier than I did. While he could still put on his skates occasionally, he didn't find it as fun as I did. I suppose that's why he ended up playing football, while my sportsmanship took place on the skating rink. Maybe it was for the best that we hadn't been rivals on the game field like we'd been each other's rivals in everything else in our lives for a big part of it. Perhaps it'd even gone too far sometimes, but often it just kept us going when we were tired or needed and extra boost. To blame Cobb for all the crazy things that happened...would be an exaggeration of his powers of misbehaviour. I knew my own ways, too.

I felt like I was slowly getting the hang of it again, going round and round, with my gloved paws holding the stick and the puck riding alongside ever so nicely., sliding on the ice. I got more confidence and started to do little passes to myself...back and forth, like I was trying to distract a player from the opposite team, planning to snatch the puck from me. Pulled a few moves like that. It was really nice, it felt good, to have my muscles stretching along my legs from the effort. It was good to be doing something with my body that didn't involve sitting on my butt all day. I really would have to start getting into shape now that it seemed I was ready to start at it again. Even my side wasn't complaining too much with this kind of dynamic activity. I'd been especially worried about that, considering they'd had to slice into muscles and tendons to help me after the accident.

It felt like a time year away, with me zooming along the ice, only rows of empty plastic seats and a few other furs on skates in my eyes, rustle of warm clothing and the clipping noise of skates being kicked for speed from the ice. Music to my ears, in its normalcy.

I gave wide birth to the family practicing their skating and commenced an attack towards one of the empty goals, body bent forward, the puck on the move at all times to make sure no imaginary foe of the opposing team could snatch my prize as I went on...sweep...sweep...sweep...and into the net!

Screeeech!

Ice dust in the air, with my quick turn to the right, to circle the goal in a victory lap before going to pick up my puck for another little round of the rink. I was only goofing around, but it still felt great to be doing it! Like I was finally getting back to the game, and quite literally so. Maybe I would soon be able to join into a real game. Might have to convince the doctor that I was no longer in danger of grievous injury from being tackled.

Honestly speaking, I was worried, too. There was no playing around with my health. Sometimes I got this stinging sensation in my ribs when I took an especially deep breath, and I would fret about it for hours afterwards and tell myself that I was alright. Just a little bit of residual soreness from the accident. Once I got enough exercise, the muscles would get back to their usual shape and keep my torso from sagging worryingly upon itself. That was good enough a target to aim for. Hot, sweaty games could follow later on.

And other activities, perhaps, maybe as soon as tomorrow, if we were both free...hmmm...good fun.

I did a few pleasant circles and number eights along the center of the rink. I used the space as much as I could, and I enjoyed the freedom it offered. Even someone on the larger side, like me, could move almost sleekly when I had the blades strapped to my footpaws.

It felt great!

GOAL!

My strike on the other end of the rink was equally successful as the first one. I think a couple of the teenaged boys fooling a round on skates were glancing at me going at it. That made me feel pretty good. They must've thought I looked quite the hockey dog doing my stuff there, not that there was anything that amazing about scoring at an empty goal from about 10 yards away. Just to get the blood going again.

A result of that was that I also got sweaty under my gear, but with my recent inactivity, even that was a welcome sign that I was doing it right. Might need to take a long and soapy shower afterwards. Maybe I'd use one of the fancy shampoos Cobb left behind, not really for my tastes but they were so expensive that simply throwing them away seemed like a waste. The guy had a toiletry case instead of a toiletry bag.

Weird.

I fetched my puck from the net and swung about to make another leisure pass along the rink. I'd just started upon it when I noticed a lone form skating slowly along the other side, and it appeared he'd just joined in the fray. The fur was familiar, too, and encouraged me to skate across the rink to give him a holler.

"Hey, Haakon!"

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