Nola Scott

It's been a while since I've been able to get some alone time on the ice.

I didn't realize how much college would take over my life when I first got here. Originally from Oak Hill, California, I moved to Los Angeles for school. Just like every other college student, I wanted that little taste of freedom that came with moving cities for school. And oh boy, was I getting it.

I never once imagined the person I'd become once I moved away from home. I'm still the same old Nola Scott only with minor altercations. Valedictorian of Highland Preparatory Nola Scott didn't go to at least one party every week, kiss boys, and get into bars and clubs with a beautiful fake ID. I thought I'd have the same study, study, study mindset I had in high school. While I do focus on school more than anything else, my personal life has doubled in action since high school.

But with school and my social life, I've strayed from my first love.

Figure skating.

The sport that makes me feel alive and free as much as moving from Oak Hill did. I still attend every practice with my team but high school Nola would be furious if she knew I was skipping out on ice time because I was recovering from a hangover most Sundays. Hangovers are ninety-nine percent of the reason why I haven't been to Blazing Ice in over a month to get in some practice on my own time.

I've been lucky enough to find a rink with an owner willing to let me use it on Sunday - the only day they're not open - to practice. Sure, I love skating with my team. But skating alone will always top sharing a rink with others. I didn't know how much I had missed it until now.

My competition music spills from the speakers lowly. I'm not skating to it specifically but I like having it play in the background while I practice. I hum the light beat as I prepare for my jump combination. My nerves tick as I go in, landing only the first jump. I groan, slapping the ice as I stand up and try again.

The same thing happens again.
And then again.
And again.

"SHIT!"

I angrily tug my blue scrunchie from my hair, letting my blonde hair loose. My hands shake in frustration as I put my hair back up in a bun. I shouldn't be getting so mad at myself when I did this. I've been putting figure skating last when it should be at least second.

I haven't let go of the dream I've always had. It's still constantly thrashing in the back of my head. Every time I step foot onto the ice, I get an image of myself doing the same thing at the Olympics. Stepping onto ice where the best of the best get to compete. Winning gold for my country. It all sounds too good to be true.

I'm eighteen. Nineteen in a couple of months. I've been watching the Olympics since I was a kid. I've seen the gold, silver, and bronze medals being won by fifteen year olds. Fifteen. It's been years since I've seen someone my age or older up there in the top three. I don't think age has anything to do with it but I do feel like I'm losing time. It scares the hell out of me because I don't know myself without figure skating.

I'm nothing without it.

"Helloooooo? Seriously, the music isn't that loud." An unfamiliar voice catches me off guard, making me stumble a bit. Luckily, I'm able to catch myself on the railing. My eyes widen slightly at the human before me. He's tall, his hair is dark brown and long but not too long. He has a square jaw that looks like it can cut through a piece of red velvet cake. A slight stubble covers said jaw as he stares at me like I'm an alien from Mars. Maybe he's the alien. No human being is that good-looking.

Besides Chris Evans.

I take a step back, still on guard. Ted Bundy was attractive.
"Rinks closed," I say. I can't believe I forgot to lock the doors, I usually do. His eyes trail my body from bottom to top. He stands outside of the ice, his hand on the plexiglass that surrounds the rink. I notice the duffel bag that hangs off his shoulder.

Oh, God. He's going to kill me.

I swallow hard.

"Yes, I know." The guy steps back and sits down on the lowest level of medal bench outside the rink. He throws his bag down and zips it open. I start looking around hesitantly, my heart suddenly thumping against my chest. He has me trapped. There's no way I can get out of here. The only way off the ice is through the one exit he happens to be sitting in front of.

I gasp slightly when I see him pull something out of his bag. He looks up at me. I blow out a breath when I notice it's a skate. Not a knife. Or rope. Or an ax.

He's here to skate.

I clear my throat before speaking. "You can't be here. The rink is closed on Sundays," I repeat. He drops his skate and pulls out another. "I'm aware." He doesn't even look up at me as he speaks. "Well, leave. No one is supposed to be here but me," I say, a little more annoyed now that I know he's not here to murder me. He lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head.

"I'll call the owner," I add since he won't budge. His skates are on his feet now and he ties them up. "Go ahead," he mumbles, but I hear him clearly. I glare hard at him but his eyes don't meet mine. Can he be any more of a dickhead? He stands tall once his skates are on, entering my ice.

"Are you five? I said the rinks closed, therefore you can't be here!" I stay in place as he completely ignores me. "Says who?" he questions. My hands stay perched on my hips like I'm disciplining a small child. That's what this feels like. "Says me," I retort. A lazy smirk crawls onto his lips. "And who are you exactly?"

"Who are you?"

The sound of the door swinging open catches both of our attention. Claire enters the rink, her head swiveling in our direction immediately. "Claire!" I say with a huge smile. Claire owns Blazing Ice. I've been skating here since I was seven so Claire is almost like a second mom to me. Behind all of my aunts of course. She's the one who's been kind enough to let me use the rink on Sundays for the past couple of years.

Her brows furrow as she waves back to me. I glare at the himbo standing next to me as Claire nears us. "I'm so glad you're here," I start. Usually, Claire doesn't come to the rink on Sunday. I'm about to complain about the dickhead next to me when she speaks up. "Miles, I didn't know you knew Nola!" she says. My brows pull together in confusion. She knows him?

"I don't know him," I say quickly. Claire inches toward Miles on the ice, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, he's my nephew! My sister's son. And this is Nola Scott, she's a regular here but I'm guessing you two already met," Claire says, introducing us. My jaw tightens slightly.

Her nephew. Of course.

"Not really. Nice to meet you," he says, an amused smile on his lips. Ugh, I hope I'm not wearing my annoyance on my face. If I am, that means he's enjoying this. "You too," I say in the sweetest voice I can conjure. "What are you doing in Irvine? Don't you have a game tonight?" Claire asks, looking up at him. "Just thought I could get in a bit of solo practice beforehand. Sorry, I should have let you know, I didn't know you had a. . . regular." He looks at me.

"Game for what, may I ask?" I ask with a sweet smile. "Hockey! Miles plays for the LA Kings," Claire answers. She wears the proudest smile on her face. A hockey player? Divine. My least favorite sport. "You play hockey too?" Miles questions. I make a face at the fact that he thinks I play hockey. Is he serious?

"Do I look like a hockey player to you?" I grumble. He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Anyone can play hockey," he says. "Well, I don't. I'm a figure skater," I clarify. He frowns. "Well, that's a lot less interesting." Claire smacks his arm lightly. Did he really just say that? "He's kidding," Claire tells me. Miles raises his brows and tilts his head.

He was not kidding. Dickhead.

"Who are you playing tonight?" I ask Miles. He looks at me for a long moment like he doesn't know whether to tell me or not. I smile, waiting for his answer. "Anaheim Ducks," he finally answers after a couple of seconds. I fake a gasp. "The Ducks are my absolute favorite team!"

I have no idea who the Anaheim Ducks are.

"I didn't know you watched hockey, Nola," Claire says. "Oh, all the time," I nod, "you know how much Dad loves sports. We watch hockey together when we can." I lie. I've never watched over a minute of any sport besides football.

I turn to face Miles. "Sorry, but the Kings have nothing on my Ducks. I guess you do need this little practice session before the game tonight," I say. Miles clenches his sharp jaw. That's what he gets. I'd say I'm nice to most people. Except for dickheads. Miles is a dickhead.

"We'll see," he retorts.

Just as I'm about to answer, the door swings open again.
"Ready, Scott?"

My seventeen year old brother enters the rink, running a hand through his damp, sandy-blonde tame. He doesn't even bother to look up. "Hi, Kayce! How are you this morning?" Claire shouts out. Kayce looks up from his phone at her. He plasters a fake smile on his face. "I'm good, thank you, Claire," he responds. I smile at Claire. "I should get going." I turn to face Miles who is already looking deep into my soul. His gray eyes pierce right through me.

"Ice is all yours. Break a leg tonight," I say sweetly before walking away.

"Metaphorically or literally?" Miles asks dryly behind me. I stifle a laugh as a mischievous smile tugs at my lips. I don't turn back around. "Whichever way you'd like to interpret it," I reply.

Carefully, I step off the ice and plant my ass on the bench near my things. I don't bother looking back up at him for a reaction. As much as I love getting back at assholes, it doesn't mean I'm not annoyed. He ruined and interrupted my ice time.

I untie my skates and put them into my bag before pulling out my tennis shoes.

"That's Miles Dempsey, right?" Kayce whispers. He towers over me at 6'3, looking toward the guy on the ice. I roll my eyes. "Who cares," I mumble as I put my shoes on and zip up my duffel bag. He makes a what the fuck face, staring down at me. I pick up my bag and sling it over my back as I start making my way out of Blazing Ice. I hear my brother's footsteps behind me as we silently approach my car.

I snatch the keys from his hand while he's engulfed in his phone. "Hey!"

"It's my car," I remind him. I only let him drive it because he had to drive to Aqua Coast, the place where he swims when I come to Irvine. Other than that, I don't let him drive my car. My little bro is the definition of "I don't give a fuck". My parents are too scared to gift him a car because they don't know what he would do with one. I will not have my car totaled by someone who isn't me.

I open the back door and throw my bag in there before hopping in the driver's side. It's inching 6 in the morning here in California. I was surprised that Claire came in so early but I suppose it's because she figured I'd be here. I prefer morning practice which is why I wake up at 3:30 every morning to make it here at a specific time.

We make it back to Oak Hill at around 6:30. The roads were almost empty on a Sunday morning but Irvine is a little over thirty minutes away from my hometown. Kayce and I try to be as quiet as possible until we notice the kitchen light on. My parents must be awake already.

My mom and dad are joined at the island by my little brother, Brooks. I'm the oldest of five. Three brothers and one sister. They're the most important part of my life which is why I find myself in Oak Hill almost every weekend. I've been coming back here less and I'm not the only one who's noticed. My parents were wide-eyed when I told them I'd stay for the weekend.

Maybe a little bit happy too.

"Morning, babies," my mom says to Kayce and I as we walk into the kitchen.

Kayce kisses my mom's cheek before finding a mug for some coffee in one of the cabinets. I sit down on the counter next to the coffee pot and groan. Kayce shakes his head. "What's wrong?" my dad asks me, sipping from his coffee. "Boy, does she have a story for you all." Kayce laughs before pouring coffee into his mug.

"What happened?" my mom asks. I don't hesitate to share the story of my miserable morning. "I was skating today before I got interrupted by none other than Miles Dempsey. Is that his name? I don't care. Anyway, he's the most obnoxious human being and I'd rather die than ever have to speak to him again," I say, rolling my eyes. "You met Miles Dempsey?!" Brooks asks suddenly, a mouth full of cereal. "Sadly, yes," I reply. "What happened that made you think he's the most obnoxious person in the world?" my mom muses.

I recall our short and very annoying interaction to them and Kayce who I didn't tell the full story of what happened until now. "You're so fucking dramatic," Kayce says dryly. "Language," my dad says sternly. Kayce rolls his eyes and sips his black coffee.

"It was probably just a one time thing. Like you said, Claire says he only visits often, right? I'm sure you won't see him again," my mom tries to reassure me. I nod, trying to focus on that one good thing. He can go ruin the ice at his million dollar facility if he wants. "Was he really that big of an asshole?" my dad asks. I tilt my head at him. I just know he's a fan of this guy. My dad and younger brothers watch any and all sports together. It's how Kayce probably knew about him and well, Brooks too.

"Dad, I'm your child so by default you have to take my side!" I snap. He holds his hands up in defense. "Whoaaa, I'm definitely on your side but you can be a little dramatic sometimes. You got it from me." He half smiles and points to his chest. Mom laughs, "Yup, definitely not me." My dad glares at her shortly like he didn't just admit I got it from him.
Although I may be a little dramatic sometimes, this is not one of those times.

Miles wasn't some angel.

"This girl is pretty, right?" Kayce whispers to me, showing me a picture of a girl on his phone. I push his hand away, not even glancing for more than a second at the picture on the screen. "Kayce, I don't want to talk about your sex life right now," I say annoyed. "Okay! Brooks, go wake up your brother and sister. Dad and I are making breakfast," my mom tells him. He listens and disappears upstairs with his bowl of cereal. "Refrain from using the word sex around your 14 year old brother, maybe?" mom whisper shouts.

Kayce rolls his eyes and sets his half empty cup in the sink. "He's 14, 15 in a couple of days, mom. I'm sure he knows about sex," Kayce defends me. She scoffs, "Did you know about sex at 14?" she asks him.

"I lost my virginity at 15, so what do you think?" Kayce says.
My little brother truly has no filter. I could never admit that I've lost my virginity to my parents even though I haven't. Yet.

My dad chokes a bit on his coffee. I don't know why they're surprised by some of the shit that spews from his mouth. I don't flinch. He told me this story when it happened. My younger brother lost his freaking virginity before I did.
I don't know if they knew Kayce was sexually active - gross - but if they didn't, they just found out now. My brother is freshly seventeen, his birthday being only three days ago.

While it might bother me that he seems to be living life more than I did at his age, I don't let it show. I guess I'm doing much more now in college so I can't complain much. Sex is an entirely different thing though. Something I want but not just from a random guy I meet at a frat party or a bar. I'll continue to hold onto that part of myself until I meet someone who I trust enough with my body. So far, no man has been good enough.

My dad swallows the coffee in his mouth and then laughs a bit. Mom snaps her neck towards him and tries to glare at him. She's a lot less intimidating than any of us so it never really works. "Why are you laughing? This is serious." Mom turns back to my Kayce. "Are you safe? Have you been being safe?" she asks.

"Mom, yes. I'm not a moron. Do you think I'd risk getting some fucking disease? No. I'm fine," he says. My dad doesn't say anything, letting my mom handle the situation, but his eyes narrow in on me shortly after. "Have you had sex?" he asks. It's only valid to ask since my younger brother just admitted to having sex, still I cringe. "Uhhhh," I hesitate. Obviously, I haven't but I don't feel comfortable talking about this out loud. My dad stands up from the bar stool and starts walking over to me. Crap. I hold my hands out.

"Chill, old man. She hasn't," Kayce says. My dad looks at him, his hard gaze on my brother now. "How do you know?" he asks him. "We talk about stuff like this. Sometimes. I told her when I lost my virginity." Kayce pats my head. "My little sister hasn't experienced that yet." He grins at my dad. I push his hand off me and cross my arms over my chest. "I'm literally older than you," I say, glaring at him. He puts a hand above my head again, "Yet, you're still 5'4."

My dad smirks at my brother. "Only Scott men are tall," he says. I roll my eyes at the people with the biggest egos in the room.

My dad and Kayce, obviously.

"Mom, Kiersten doesn't want to wake up!" Brooks yells from upstairs. "I'll go deal with that, you start breakfast." Mom points at dad. "Yes, ma'am," he says and she pats his bare chest lightly as she walks out of the kitchen. "Turn on the TV, will you?" dad says to Kayce. My brother turns on the TV that hangs against the wall above the table we eat at. Kayce flips through the channels and lands on. . . a hockey game. He smirks at me. "Hey dad, look what's on. The game we missed last night," Kayce says.

Dad looks up from the stove to the TV. He chuckles as he cracks eggs into a pan. "Dempsey plays for the Kings, your sister won't like that," he says. I roll my eyes and dart my attention to the TV.

A bunch of himbos play a game where they hit a puck. How is this interesting at all? "That's why we're watching it," Kayce says, sitting down at the dining table. I focus my glare on him now instead of the TV. "You are a menace to not only society but my life," I say bitterly. Dad laughs. "So dramatic, Granola Nola," my dad says, using that God awful childhood nickname he and mom coined for me. "She loves me," Kayce tells my dad and then sends an evil smirk my way.
I can't even get away from that hockey player at home.

Great.