Frostbite

Two days. 48 hours. 2,880 minutes. 173,800 seconds. However you want to put it, that amount of time in bed is pure hell. I have never been more happy that it's Saturday than I am right now. Early Saturday morning, Uncle Isaac comes in my room and smiles at me upon seeing that I'm already awake.

"Morning kiddo. You ready?" He greets, sitting on the side of my bed. I give him a look and he just laughs. He takes the heating pad off my leg and slides the knee brace off swiftly. 

I flex the muscles and swing my legs over the other side of the bed. Uncle Isaac gives me a disapproving look but let's me stand up on my own anyway. God it feels so good to use these muscles again.

Uncle Isaac shadows me to the bathroom door to make sure I'm okay. Once he's satisfied he leaves me to shower and tells me that breakfast will be ready in ten. Then we can go to the rink.

I can't stop smiling throughout my muscle relaxing shower and I dry off and dress quickly. These two days off the ice have been nothing but torture. Knowing that I really am okay and that the rink is only ten minutes away was worse than having to sit in bed for two days. I think I even had a few nightmares. I know it might seem dramatic to most people but I'm not kidding. 

It's like taking a pencil away from a writer when inspiration hits and tearing a clean sheet of paper right in front of their face. It's like shredding a pianists sheet music and putting their instrument through a wood chipper. Pure torture. Pianists play. Writers write. Skaters skate. It's what we do.

I would never take a script away from Nico, I'd never take Kinna's sewing machine from her, and, no matter how primitive I think the sport is, I'd never take Benjamin's hockey stick. Those are the things we love, it's what makes us who we are. 

With that being said, I think you can understand my excitement at receiving the news that I'm allowed to skate today. Uncle Isaac forces me to actually eat breakfast rather than just rush through it, which just prolongs my eagerness.

Once he checks and double checks and triple checks that we have everything, as is his way, he finally gets in the car and starts the engine. The ten minute drive to the rink might actually have been more painfully horrible than the two days in bed but then again, that's certainly not the case.

The rink is almost empty when we get there. Almost. One lone skater is on the ice, hitting hockey pucks with a little too much force into a net set up toward the end.

Benjamin stops short when he sees us and Uncle Isaac has a less-than-displeased look in his face.

"What are you doing on the ice?" He demands.

Benjamin skates toward the edge and leans on the low wall. His shirt rides up slightly, revealing tanned skin just above his fitted jeans, which honestly makes his ass look amazing. As soon as I realize I'm staring at his butt I focus on the image on his shirt. It's the Mountain Dew logo but upon further examination, the words read Mount and do me instead.

I look away from that too and start paying attention to what my uncle is arguing about with the hockey player. "I didn't know you guys booked time. Just calm down. I'll go get my shit and leave."

Uncle Isaac looks as I he'd seriously jump over the wall and throttle Benjamin if he said another unpleasant word. Lucky for everyone, he skates off and begins picking up pucks and shoving them into a bag. He's careful to get everything. Double and triple checking before stepping off the ice.

Uncle Isaac gives him a distasteful look and rolls his eyes. "Since you're here, help Micajah stretch out. I have to go find the keys to the zamboni since you carved the ice beyond acceptable skatability."

With that he turns on his heel and storms off. Benjamin gives me an 'are you fucking kidding me' look and I shrug. "He's still kinda pissed because of the accident. And the cake."

"He didn't like my fucking cake? I make fucking amazing cakes. He can go to hell and-"

"No, Benjamin. He loved the cake. We all did. I ate like, half of it which totally screwed up my diet." I explain. Benjamin looks at me with a considering expression before his face breaks into a smile. 

"Well I guess I can't get too mad at his bitch ass attitude." He comments, dropping down to the floor to exchange his skates for old street shoes. 

"Look, you don't have to stay to help me stretch." I say. "If you leave quietly I don't think he'll notice."

"It's fine. I don't have anywhere to be for an hour anyway." He shrugs. "So what do pansies do to stretch?" Benjamin grins, letting me know he's semi joking.

I roll my eyes and shake out my arms. "I'll walk you through it." 

He nods and concentrates on what I'm saying which is surprising. Benjamin is familiar with the easy stretches which isn't surprising since I suppose hockey players have to stretch too.

It's when we get to the end stretches that he gets frustrated. I kick my leg up and rest it on his shoulder. "Okay. Walk toward me slowly."

"Won't that hurt?"

"Yes." I say simply.

"Then why-"

"Just do it." 

He raises an eyebrow but does it anyway, walking closer until I'm in a vertical split. I count out thirty seconds and tell him to walk all the way back so that I'm putting all my weight into the split. Benjamin looks slightly worried at the few grunts of discomfort coming from me but ultimately doesn't say anything. He helps me with the other leg and then we're done.

"Figure skaters are insane." He mumbles. 

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"You heard me." He challenges. I roll my eyes and sit on the nearest bench to lace up my skates. 

"You're just jealous that you're not this flexible." I smirk, adding, "Or that you've never had anyone as flexible as I am in bed."

Judging by the look on his face he definitely wasn't expecting that. Well, that and the fact that he's speechless for what I assume is the first time in his life. I step onto the ice as Uncle Isaacs instruction and am hyper aware of Benjamin's eyes on me.