A Great Perhaps

Chapter One

Ice sprayed in a sharp arc as Guan Shan drove down the rink, cutting tight crossovers through the cones. The puck stayed glued to his stick, tapping back and forth in controlled rhythm as he shifted his weight from edge to edge. Steel hissed against ice.

He rounded the final cone hard, pivoted, and snapped a wrist shot high glove side. The puck cracked against the back netting.

Good, but not good enough.

He glided past the crease and coasted toward the boards, chest heaving. Sweat burned beneath his helmet despite the cold. When he ripped it off, steam curled faintly in the frigid air.

He’d been out here for hours now and his ankles throbbed inside the rigid boots. His core felt like it had been wrung out. He leaned over his stick at the boards and reached for his water bottle on the bench. It slipped from his shaking hands and clattered to the rubber mat.

“Fuck.”

He shoved his gloves off and dropped onto the bench, yanking at his laces with numb fingers. Relief came slow as he loosened them, blood rushing back into his feet.

The rink was a disaster with cones scattered and pucks everywhere. He’d clean it up eventually. Right now he just needed to be exhausted. Needed his muscles too tired to feel anything else. It had been a week since the suspension. Benched, and just as the season had started at that. He had never felt so humiliated. 

He hadn’t started the fight, but he sure had finished it. Finished it with blood on the ice and someone missing a tooth, or several of them. Apparently that had been too much. 

Guan Shan still couldn’t shake the anger and betrayal he felt. His team was supposed to have his back, his coach was supposed to have his back. The other player was obviously pushing the limits and the referee wasn’t doing shit about it. And he definitely didn't like it when Guan Shan called him out on it. 

Guan Shan could handle the shit talk, that was nothing new, but that asshole just had to go take it further.

“Unsportsmanlike conduct,” his coach had said as he sat him down with the ice pack.

Unbelievable. 

How else was he supposed to react after he got smacked in the face with a hockey stick? Just let them get away with that? He hadn’t been able to see out of his left eye for two days after. Only just recently had the swelling started to come down. The asshole got what was coming to him. He just wished it wasn’t at the cost of his own season.

“Open skate is at ten, Red!” a voice called from behind him.

Guan Shan glanced over his shoulder. Yao Bin stood near the gate, arms folded. The rink manager was a retired figure skating coach who’d taken a strange liking to him over the years. He let Guan Shan come in early on weekends—sometimes even stay after hours—as long as he helped clean up.

“Got it, boss,” Guan Shan called back.

He bent to retighten his laces, hauling them snug through the top eyelets and double-knotting hard. Then he pushed to his feet and corralled the scattered pucks into a pile with the toe of his blade, stacking the cones near the boards before the Zamboni came out.

The resurfacer rumbled onto the ice, blade grinding low as it shaved away the torn-up surface. A thin sheen of hot water trailed behind it, smoothing over gouges and cuts like nothing had ever happened. Guan Shan watched it work, glaring without realizing it. 

“What’s with the face?”

Guan Shan looked up to see the old coach looking down at him, furrowed brows and all. 

“Nothing, just waiting for the ice.”

The old man sighed and sat down next to him. “Practicing yourself to death isn’t going to make you any less suspended.” 

Guan Shan didn’t look at him. “I said I wasn’t interested in talking about it, old man.”

Yao Bin exhaled in exasperation, then pushed himself back up. “Fine. Have it your way, kid.” 

Guan Shan rolled his eyes and stood to stretch. He piled up his helmet and gear. He was done with pucks and pads for the day. Now he just wanted to cool down before heading home. 

As soon as the ice was ready, Guan Shan stepped through the gate. He started slow this time—long C-cuts down the red line, deep inside edges around the faceoff circle, tight pivots at the blue line. Drills he’d been doing since he was eight. His body knew them better than it knew anything else. They were grounding.

People began filtering in for open skate, blades clicking against the rubber mats, chatter echoing under the high ceiling. Guan Shan barely noticed, zeroed in on the movements and the rage simmering beneath it all.

He’d only been back on the ice a short while when someone cut cleanly into his path.

Guan Shan jerked to a stop, spraying ice. “Watch where you’re fucking going—” Guan Shan looked up and scowled. He fucking Tian. Obnoxiously tall. Infuriatingly composed. A figure skater, of course, and a good one at that.

“This is open skate,” Guan Shan snapped. “Not ballet rehearsal.”

He Tian looked down at him and tilted his head, assessing him. “You have good edges.”

“What?”

He Tian pushed off in a slow circle around him, never taking his eyes off him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Guan Shan pivoted sharply to keep him in front of him.

“You lean too hard into your outside edge when you pivot,” He Tian said mildly. “But your balance recovery is fast. Strong core control. As expected of a hockey player on your level.”

Guan Shan stared up at him like he was speaking another language.

“You… look light enough to lift,” he said, sounding almost a little surprised.

“Excuse me?” Guan Shan barked. “No one is fucking lifting me.”

“Why not? You might actually have fun.” He Tian said pleasantly. “Maybe even loosen up a bit.”

“Fuck off!” Guan Shan yelled. He turned to skate away but didn’t make it two strides before a gloved hand caught his.

He Tian stepped in close, shifting his weight smoothly onto his inside edge and guiding Guan Shan into the rotation.

The next thing Guan Shan knew the room was spinning. Before he could respond, his instincts kicked in. His core tightened and his knees bent, shifting his weight to try and control the movement. Somehow instead of stumbling, he managed to complete the rotation, He Tian’s hands guiding him through it. 

They came to a stop facing each other, still holding hands.

Guan Shan blinked. “Wha—wait, what—” The whole interaction was so ridiculous and unexpected he didn’t even know how to react.

He Tian nodded once, satisfied. “Yup. You’ll do great. And even better, we both know you’re already free.” 

“What the fuck!” he snapped, yanking back his hand. “Try that again and I’ll send you into the boards! Then we’ll both be out for the season.” He pushed off hard, skating away.