Chapter 10

Hockey Brute chuckled.

Just behind the crash site, Irina Mischen shook her head. “Shake it off and regroup. Try again. Try again!” No rest for the weary, certainly not the Olympic-bound. “Now!”

The boys obeyed at once. No one but a coach got so much action out of so few syllables. This time Milo closed his eyes, cracking the right one ever so slightly as he stroked his way toward the center of the rink. As Tom Alan looped around to him from behind, he let the music guide him into an improvised Ina Bauer-like position—leaning back, skates parallel to one another, one on a forward edge, the other on the backward one, just before Tom Alan made contact.

“Oh my God! Beautiful!” Irina Mischen exclaimed. “Extraordinary!”

Milo’s left arm fluttered like the wing of the balletic swan as he straightened himself and spread his legs, preparing for Tom Alan’s large hand to grab the balled-up fist he rested on his pubic bone.