He stepped out of the taxi and looked around, just about as wide-eyed as he could be.

The Olympic Oval.

Him.

Dude.

Chris Fogerty stood there, staring at the building that housed what Troy said was the fastest ice in the world. He still couldn't believe it. Man, you break a couple records and suddenly your happy ass is in fucking Canada, your coach promising to come out in a week after meeting sponsors and shit.

Dude.

Fog just looked, staring like the world's biggest idiot, duffle bag in one hand, skate bag in the other. Okay. Okay. Man. Breathe. You go in, you tell the people who you are. You skate. You find a cheap place to park it overnight. Him and Troy were playing it tight with the money. No extras. No temptations. No nothing 'til he could prove he could do this and not fuck it up.

He took one deep breath and then another and then just headed in, pretending as best he could that he was supposed to be there.

See him.

See him strut.

He marched right up to the chick at the front. "Hey, there. I'm here for the Oval Program. Can you point me to where I need to go?"

She gave him a smile, taking in his duffel, his jeans, his blond hair. "Chris Fogerty, right? I know all the up and comers. Oh, my God." She held out her hand. "I'm such a fan. When you broke those records, I told my Dad, I said 'he's coming to Calgary, Daddy, I bet you anything.' All the top skaters come here. It's the fastest ice in world."

Dude. A fan. Fucking cool. "Yeah? Cool. I'm stoked. Ready." He held his hand out to shake, finding his best gee-I'm-a-cute-fuck smile.

She shook it eagerly, beaming at him.

A soft chuckle came from the left." Andrea's not a stalker, honest." The guy was tall and built, with dark hair and blue eyes. He looked kind of familiar.

"Good to know." Fog nodded over and up (and up and up). Man, it sucked being the short competition.

"Oh, I'm not!" She shook her head and that chuckle sounded again.

"Thanks Andrea, I'll show Chris around."

She left and the guy held out his hand. "Jim Watts. Bill Anders asked me to train with you."

"I'm Fog." Oh, dude. He knew Jim Watts' name and everybody knew Bill Anders, didn't they? The whole fucking world.

"Fog?" Jim grinned, hand warm as it shook his. "That's a cool name. Come on, you want to see the facilities, I bet. Maybe even lace up?"

"Sure. Yeah." Man. Hell yeah.