They Thought I Was Weak, I Am Their Only Hope novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Open Skate

Mara plays the worst skater in Boston at a televised open skate until the Kings' enforcer lays out Paolo. She steps in, slips his check without thinking, and only Luca sees it.

I fell on the ice in front of three cameras and eleven thousand people, and it was the first thing I did right all week.

The open skate at the Garden was supposed to be a fan event.

Vasko had turned it into a trial.

His players lined the boards in their grey jerseys, and Lev stood at the red line with his phone raised and the $20,000 sign taped to his chest.

"Everyone, she's coming out," Lev said to his stream. "The famous Brescia find. Let's see what a rich girl can do."

I stepped onto the ice in the white rental skates.

My ankles bent inward on purpose.

The crowd laughed before I had taken a stride.

My father stood at the bench with his arms folded and his jaw working.

Luca sat beside him with his cast propped on a bucket and a smile that said he was trying.

"Three laps," Luca called. "Easy. Pretend you're walking."

I pushed off and wobbled.

I made it half a lap before I put out my arms and flapped them, and the whole upper deck whooped.

"She's gonna die," someone shouted from the rail.

On the second lap I dragged my feet, stopped dead at the far boards, and bent over with my hands on my knees.

The comments on Lev's phone rolled so fast he laughed out loud.

"That's it?" he called. "That's the daughter?"

Paolo came off the bench in his full gear and skated up beside me.

"Give me the watch," he said.

"What?"

"Your watch. It counts the laps. Give it here."

I held out my wrist, and he unbuckled the smartwatch and strapped it onto his own wrist.

Then he lapped the rink twice at full speed while I stood by the boards and waved.

The crowd cheered him, and then they cheered me for being the one who got helped.

I should have felt humiliated.

I felt safe.

"Look at them," Lev said to the phone. "The whole family carrying one girl. It's honestly sad."

A man in a grey jersey with a neck tattoo skated over to the face-off circle and pointed his stick at Paolo.

He was the Kings' enforcer, and he had been lifting weights in the corner all morning.

"Scrimmage," he said. "Three on three. Brescias against us. Let's see how the captain's ribs are."

Paolo didn't wait for my father.

He nodded, and they dropped the puck.

I stayed at the boards and watched a man with ten pounds on him wait for the exact second Paolo turned his left side.

It was a clean line, and nobody on the bench saw it coming but me.

The enforcer drove his shoulder into my brother's taped ribs, and Paolo went down on the ice with a sound I had never heard him make.

The crowd groaned.

Lev zoomed in.

"Oh, that's gonna hurt," he said. "That's a broken one."

I was already moving.

I do not remember deciding to.

I skated between the enforcer and my brother, and the white skates did not wobble.

"Back off," I said.

The enforcer looked down at me.

"Get out of the way, princess."

"No."

He laughed, and he shoved me with the flat of his glove, and then he leaned into a real check with two hundred and thirty pounds behind it.

I knew the hit before it came.

There is a hip turn you learn in an alley rink when the man across from you is twice your size.

You do not push back.

You give him the place you were standing and take the place he was going.

My body did it without me.

I slid half a step to the left, hooked my skate behind his, and let his own weight carry him.

The enforcer went over the boards headfirst into the Kings' bench, and the bench collapsed on him with a crash that echoed up to the rafters.

For a second nobody made a sound.

I stood in the middle of the ice with my arms at my sides.

Then I did the only thing I could think of.

I fell flat on my back and lay there with my arms spread, and I let out a high, small yelp.

The arena roared.

Half of them thought I had tripped him by accident, and the other half thought he had slipped.

Lev's phone had been pointed at Paolo.

It had missed the whole turn.

My father came out onto the ice in his shoes and picked up my brother.

Paolo leaned on his shoulder, swearing under his breath.

The medics reached me last.

I told them I was fine, and I let one of them help me up.

When I turned toward the bench, Luca was standing on his good leg with both hands on the boards.

He was not smiling now.

He was looking at my skates.

"Mara," he said, when I got close enough to hear. "That wasn't a fall."

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