Page 17 of Love so Cold

Perched highup in the bleachers, I adjust the little cardboard sign propped up by my feet. "Hometown Hearts – Say No to Stone's Stones!" it reads, a touch of wit in a sea of worry. Beside me, parents murmur and shuffle. I look down to see Olivia on the ice. She glides effortlessly, and I can see the joy on her face. I can't help but marvel; she's a natural—fearless and poised. Where does she get that grace? Definitely not from me. I'm more the trip-over-my-own-feet type, so no one will ever catch me on skates.

"Hey, Avery," the dad next to me leans over, his voice cutting through my reverie, "what's the game plan againstthe development?"

"Next month," I start, hands twisting in my lap, "it goes to the Board of Supervisors for a vote. If they say yes..." I exhale a heavy breath, "...game over."

Another parent pipes up, concern etching his features. "So, is it a lost cause then?"

I shake my head. "No way. The Board listens when citizens speak up. They have to; they're elected officials. We've got a voice, and we're gonna use it."

The chill from the rink seeps into the bleachers, a cold reminder of what's at stake. "Listen up," I say, my voice carrying over the sounds from the practice down below. "The Board meeting is a public forum, okay? We all need to show up, speak our piece." I lock eyes with each parent, imploring. "It's our town, our kids' future. We can't just sit back."

"Is there something we can do now, though?" The question comes from a mom wrapped tight in her scarf, her hands fidgeting with the fringe.

"Absolutely," I nod, pulling out my phone and scrolling through my notes. "We start a mailer campaign. Make calls to the Board. Let them know where we stand before it's too late."

A hesitant cough pulls my attention to the left. It's Mike, always a bit timid, but today he looks downright uncomfortable. "But, um, could the development be... good for us?" His words trail off as a few heads bob inagreement.

I feel a twinge of annoyance but squash it down. Can't let frustration show, not when unity is key. "Look," I begin, keeping my tone level, "it might seem shiny on paper. But the truth? It'll push us right out of our homes, dismantle everything we've built here." I gesture broadly, encompassing the arena, the kids on the ice. "Don't be dazzled by Victor Stone's deep pockets and pretty promises."

Nods replace the earlier uncertainty, and I sense the shift, the collective resolve strengthening. This isn't just about opposing some fancy development; it's about protecting our heartland. And no amount of money can paper over that.

"Speaking of Victor Stone." The words slice through the cold arena air, and every head in our little section of bleachers swivels down to the rink. Sure enough, there he is—dark hair, blue eyes that could cut glass, striding in like he owns the place. And honestly, maybe soon he will.

The coach glides over to him, all smiles and handshakes. I lean forward, straining to catch snippets of their conversation, but it's useless over the sound of scraping skates and the occasional cheer when a kid manages a particularly tricky move.

"Can you believe it?" a mom named Janet murmurs next to me, her voice low. "He's moved into an apartment downtown."

"Seriously?" Tom, on my other side, chimes in. "Sawhim at the coffee shop on Main this morning. Guy's everywhere all of a sudden."

I roll my eyes, feeling that familiar flare of irritation. "It's so transparent," I mutter, loud enough for the parents around me to hear. "He's trying to cozy up to everyone, get us on his side for this development scam. But once he's got what he wants, he'll disappear. And we'll be the ones left holding the broom, cleaning up his mess."

They nod, murmurs of agreement passing between them. It's not just the idea of being uprooted that's got us all fired up—it's the deception, the slick veneer of community spirit when we all know it's just a front.

Just then, the whistle pierces the air, sharp and final. Practice is over. Kids start to peel away from the ice, their flushed faces turning up to find their parents in the stands.

"Alright, see you all next week, same time," I call out as parents begin to shuffle down the bleachers, collecting coats and scarves.

Olivia's tiny figure cuts through the ice, a blur of confidence and grace. She spots me high up in the bleachers, her gloved hand lifting to wave. I can't help but smile wide, waving back with enthusiasm that only a mother's heart knows. That's when I catch it—Victor Stone's gaze lifting from Olivia to me. Our eyes lock again, an electric current zapping through the cold arena air.

"Hey, Avery," Samantha's voice pulls me back, her grin wide as she sidles up beside me with Emily in tow.

"Hi, guys," I respond, tearing my gaze away from Victor with effort. But not quick enough, it seems.

"Ooh, intense eye contact there," Emily teases, nudging me playfully. "You two been ogling each other much?"

"Please," I scoff, trying to sound dismissive, but heat creeps into my cheeks. "As if I'd waste my time."

"Uh-huh," Samantha drawls, clearly not buying it.

We're still chuckling when Olivia skates over to the coach, who's standing with Victor. Something about seeing him interact with her irks me deep down. I fix my eyes on them, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

"Guys, I need to see what he's feeding my kid with his silver tongue," I say, my protective instincts kicking into high gear.

"Of course," Emily nods, determination etched on her face. "Let's go."

"Team mom power," Samantha adds with a wink.

We navigate the steps down from the bleachers, our boots thudding against the metal. As we reach rink-side, I feel that prickly sensation of stepping into a showdown, though no words have been exchanged yet. Olivia is laughing at something Victor says, and it takes all my self-control not to sprint over there.

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