Breaking The Ice
The rink echoed with the sharp, rhythmic sound of skates, but today, it felt different. The team’s usual precision of movement was missing, replaced by disjointed, uneven strides that disrupted the flow of the game.
A shot went wide, ricocheting off the boards with a hollow thud. Players exchanged frustrated glances, their shoulders sagging with unspoken defeat. The chemistry that had once defined us seemed to have evaporated overnight. This wasn’t how we’d been playing just a few weeks ago, and it was painfully obvious to everyone.
The coach blew the whistle, signaling a break, but no one seemed relieved. The frustration lingered in the air, thick and uncomfortable, as players coasted to a halt. Skates scraped against the ice, the sound grating in the heavy silence.
My name is Sophie Brooks, and I’m the captain of this team. But right now, leading them wasn’t about giving orders or making plays—it was about pulling them back from the edge. We were on the verge of losing something important, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.
As I scanned the rink, my eyes landed on Emma Davis, our best player. She skated toward me, her movements sharp with frustration. Pulling off her helmet, she ran a hand through her sweat-dampened hair and fixed me with a determined gaze.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, her voice tight and low. “I’ve worked incredibly hard to be here, pushed through every obstacle just to make this team. But I can’t keep carrying the load for everyone. If the rest of the team isn’t willing to commit, to give everything they have for this game, then I can’t continue like this. I’ve given my all, and it’s not worth it if they can’t do the same.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Emma’s words weren’t wrong. The team had been falling apart, and the effort wasn’t evenly distributed. Still, the idea of losing her hit like a slap in the face.
“Emma, you’re right,” I said, meeting her gaze. “This team hasn’t been pulling its weight, and it’s not fair to you—or anyone—to carry this alone. But walking away now? That’s not you. You didn’t fight this hard to get here just to let it slip away.”
Her expression softened slightly, but the frustration still lingered.
“Let’s fix this,” I continued.
“We’ve got a week. I’ll talk to the coach, and we’ll figure out a way to get everyone back on the same page. I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I can promise I won’t let you take this on alone anymore. Deal?”
Emma shook her head, her grip tightening on her stick.
“You don’t get it, Sophie,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm.
“I’ve always wanted to go pro. This isn’t just a game to me—it’s my future. And if staying here means holding myself back because no one else is willing to step up, then maybe I need to focus on doing this alone.”
Her words stung, but I could see the conviction in her eyes. She wasn’t just frustrated—she was desperate to move forward, to make all the years of hard work mean something.
I stared at her, searching for the right words, but nothing came. She wasn’t wrong—Emma had every right to prioritize her future. Still, the idea of losing her felt like a crack in our already fragile foundation.
“If that’s what you think is best, I won’t stop you,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the knot forming in my chest.
“But just know this—if you go, we’ll still be rooting for you. I’ll still be rooting for you.”
Emma’s expression softened, and for a moment, I thought she might reconsider. But she simply nodded, her shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted.
“Thanks, Sophie. That means a lot.”
She hesitated for a moment, her grip on her stick tightening before she finally set it down on the bench.
“I’m sorry, Sophie,” she said quietly, avoiding my eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I can’t keep pushing myself like this. I need to focus on what comes next for me.”
Her words hung in the air like a final buzzer.
“Emma, wait,” I said, stepping forward, desperation creeping into my voice.
“I know it’s been hard. We’re all feeling it. But we can get through this if we stick together. Just… give me some time to fix this. To fix us.”
She shook her head, her expression firm.
“It’s not just about the team, Sophie. It’s about me. I’ve worked too hard to get here, and I can’t risk my future by staying in a situation where I’m constantly carrying the weight.”
The knot in my chest tightened.
“You’re not alone in this, Emma. We all need to step up, I get that. But if you leave now, it’ll feel like you’re giving up on everything we’ve built together.”
Emma’s face softened, but only for a moment.
“I’m not giving up,” she said, her voice resolute.
“I’m making a choice—for me. I hope you understand that someday.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking toward the locker room. I wanted to say something, anything, to make her stay. But the words didn’t come. Instead, I stood there, watching her leave, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the empty rink.
When the door finally closed behind her, I turned back to the team. They were watching me, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry. I knew I had to say something, to rally them, but the weight of Emma’s departure made it hard to find the right words.
“Alright,” I began, my voice firmer than I felt.
“We just lost one of our best players, and it’s going to be tough to fill that gap. But we can’t let this break us. This team is bigger than one player, no matter how good she was. We’re going to push through this. Together.”
I scanned their faces, looking for even a flicker of determination, and found it in a few nods and straightened postures. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Emma might have been gone, but we still had a season to fight for, and I wasn’t going to let us go down without trying.
As I turned to face the ice, the thought lingered in my mind: Emma was chasing her dream, and I couldn’t blame her for that. But I couldn’t let her absence be the end of ours.
