The hour has finally come, when he knows that the ice has just been resurfaced by the resident Zamboni, and when there isn’t a single other pair of blades around to tarnish its pristine surface but his own. It’s like a sacred time of night, an hour or so after his team has dispersed from the ice rink after a good, hard practice. A savory silence befalls the cold air, breeding the perfect space for the teenage hockey star’s thoughts wander in.
Leaving the locker rooms, still suited up in his school team’s uniform with a broad “16” spanning across his back, Casey walks over to the edge of the rink at a natural pace while balanced on the blades of his skates. Lost in thought, it takes him a moment to realize he’s not alone in the quiet rink for once as the sound of something cutting across the ice catches his attention.
Looking across the expanse of the glossy surface, he’s surprised when he sees what looks to be a young girl, her age hard to pin due to her bulky clothing. Stepping out onto the ice, he drops a puck down, absently pushing it around with his hockey stick as he skates a few paces away from the rink’s entry gate. “I usually have the place to myself ‘round this hour… Don’t mind if I join ya, do ya?" His tone is friendly, though bears a curious lacing.