Burning Ice - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The ice feels cold under my blades, but it doesn't cut through the fog in my head. My stick is gripped tight, the wood slick in my hands, but every pass I make feels off, forced. My mind keeps drifting, pulling me out of the game, out of the focus I should have.
"Focus, Griffiths!" Coach's voice snaps me back, but it's too late. I already missed the pass. Again.
I try to shake it off, skating harder, pushing my legs to move faster, but the thoughts are relentless. I see my father's face, sharp with disappointment, like it's etched into the back of my eyelids. He hasn't said a word to me in weeks, not since the last blowout. Hell, he doesn't even bother to show up to my games anymore, says he's too busy with his other business, the one that doesn't involve me or the team.
I force a shot on goal. Another miss. My pulse quickens, and it's not from the intensity of the drill. It's from the anger building in my chest, the frustration gnawing at me. I should be used to this by now. I've been trying to prove myself to a man who doesn't care for years. But today... today, it feels like I'm drowning in it. I can't focus, not in practice, not on anything.
My father's voice, harsh and cold, echoes in my head: "You'll never be good enough for me, Nate."
I shoot again, but the puck just slides across the ice. It's not like I care if I win this drill anymore. I care if my father notices me. I care if he even knows I exist beyond being the trophy son of his empire. But he doesn't. He never has.
Coach blows his whistle, and I hear the familiar crackling of ice beneath my skates as I skate off the rink. The team's already moving on to the next drill, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm not here, physically or mentally. My mind is elsewhere, replaying the conversation from last night, wondering if this is what I've become... just a shadow of the man my father wants me to be, but never will be.
I take a long breath, shaking my head. Maybe tomorrow will be better. But tonight, I know I'll be right back in this headspace, thinking about everything he wants from me, everything I can't give him.
I grab my gear bag and head to the locker room, pretending to be lost in the next moment, just to forget the weight of the past.
"Nate? What the hell man?" I could hear my teammate, Evan Monty, call after me.
"I just need a second" I puffed out as I threw my gloves aggressively across the room.
"Like hell you do. You're totally out of wack right now and Coach is pissed" he didn't have to remind me that I've let another man down.
"I don't give a fuck" that wasn't true, I did. But right now I just wanted some space.
Evan was quiet for a minute. Just staring at me as I'm sure it looked like I had steam coming out of my ears. I paced across the room trying to calm my shaking hands. I just wanted to punch something.
I knew that hitting something when I was frustrated was all thanks to my dad. I knew my quick to anger reactions was also thanks to my dad. A fucking asshole, that's what he is. Used me and my siblings as human punching bags when things didn't go his way. Like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum.
He was a spoiled brat. After all he inherited his father's million dollar real estate empire. He never had to really work for anything in his life, it was all just handed to him with no consequences.
My life was privileged as well, I won't deny that. But unlike my father, I wasn't handed everything to me. I've had to work for almost everything I have right now. Being drafted into the NHL at 18, that was all me and my hard work. Working my way up from a rookie bench wormer to a star player 9 years later, that was all fucking me.
Hockey was my escape. It helped me get out all my grievances with the world, in that rink everything is supposed to disappear but lately that hasn't been the case.
"Tell you what. After practice I know what you need to help get your mind off things" Evans voice was optimally optimistic.
"Evan I don't want to go to a strip club" I nearly laughed at the idea.
He groaned in annoyance.
"Griffith, you don't know what you're missing. I promise you, just go this once and if you hate it you never have to go again. I won't even mention it" he swore.
He and my other teammates have been trying to get my dick wet for nearly a year now. Since my breakup with my short term girlfriend, I haven't really been interested in girls or sleeping with anyone. Not that I don't soak in the attention I get, a man would be a fool not to but with everything going on in my life it was just the last thing on my mind.
But maybe this is what I needed. Maybe I was so wound up because I had some pressure built up, if you know what I mean. I can't believe I'm even entertaining this idea but anything to help me get my head back in the game was worth a shot.
"This once-" I couldn't even finish my sentence before he let out a loud scream of excitement.
"Trust me bro. I gotta tell the team" Evan darted out the room and I could hear him saying "GUYS, GUYS YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS" all the way down the halls.
This is going to be a long night.
The moment I step through the door, the heavy beat of the bass hits me like a wall. It's all flashing lights, the sharp scent of cologne mixing with the subtle perfume in the air, and the low hum of conversation, a far cry from the sterile, controlled environment of the rink.
My teammates are already at the bar, their laughter and loud voices cutting through the hum, urging me to join them. "You need this, Griffiths. Get your head out of your dad's world for a damn minute," Marcus had said, slapping me on the back earlier. He meant well, I guess, but they didn't know the half of it. The last thing I wanted was to walk into a place like this. But here I am.
I stand just inside the entrance, taking it all in, trying to make sense of the chaos. The room is darker than I expected, except for the lights flashing over the stage in the center. There are women everywhere. They are moving, swaying, dressed in next to nothing, each one trying to catch the eyes of men perched at tables or standing by the bar. The club feels... alive. Loud. Like the energy itself has a heartbeat.
I should be paying attention, maybe even feeling something more than annoyance. After all, my teammates are hooting and hollering, already lost in the spectacle. But I'm just not into it. I don't want to be here, and it's painfully obvious.
Still, I walk further into the space, following the group, my eyes scanning the room as if I'm supposed to be impressed or excited. There's a woman on stage now, her body twisting in ways that make my head spin, flashing like some ethereal figure in the strobe light. She has confidence, undeniable. But all I can think about is how different this is from anything I've ever known. How... fake. How many of these men have the same haunted look in their eyes that I do? Or is that just me?
I stop at the bar, leaning against it, trying to ignore the fact that I feel out of place in this neon-lit world of indulgence. The noise, the chatter, the half-dressed women—they're all background noise to the chaos swirling in my head. I sip the drink someone hands me without thinking, my gaze flitting around the room, landing on faces I don't know.
I haven't seen her yet.
I don't know what I'm waiting for. Something to catch my attention, maybe. I've seen girls like this in the past, girls who use their bodies to make men feel something, or to make them forget. But then again, I've never been the type of guy to fall into that.
I finally look back up, and that's when I see her. She's just stepped onto the stage, her figure commanding the space, a wave of blonde curls flowing down her back. The spotlight hits her immediately, casting her in a soft golden glow. She moves with a smoothness that seems almost calculated, as though every step is part of some unspoken dance between her and the crowd. Her eyes scan the room, but when they pass over me, something flickers in them. Recognition? Or maybe curiosity.
I don't know why it hits me, but it does. The way she moves. The way she owns the moment. I don't know her yet, but I already feel like I need to know more.
This was a very unusual feeling for me.
The moment she steps onto the stage, everything shifts. The lights seem to hone in on her, casting a warm glow over her as she moves, confident and in control. Her blonde curls bounce with each step, and the sway of her hips catches my attention immediately. There's something about the way she moves so effortless, yet purposeful that draws me in.
Her body is toned and curvy, every movement smooth, like she's been dancing her whole life. It's not the frantic, desperate energy I expected. She's not seeking attention but she commands it. And the way she moves, fluid and graceful, makes it impossible to look away.
Her tight dress clings to her, hugging her figure in all the right places. As she moves, I can't help but notice the strength in her legs, the way her body holds itself with such confidence. She doesn't need to try, she just is, and it pulls at something deep inside me.
I don't even realize how much time has passed before she looks up, her eyes flickering toward me for a brief moment. There's no flirtation, no obvious invitation. It's just a moment, but it's enough to make my heart skip a beat. Something shifts in me, like I'm seeing her in a new light, even though she hasn't really looked at me the way the others have.
She's magnetic, pulling everyone in, but it's not just the way her body moves. There's something about her presence that I can't quite place.
I find myself drawn to her more with each passing second, and the noise of the club around me seems to fade as I watch her, completely captivated by the way she commands the stage. She doesn't need anyone's approval, she owns the moment, and it's impossible to ignore.
I don't know her but suddenly I felt like I had to have her all to myself.