The rink was nearly empty. Only the faint squeak of skates on ice and the echo of pucks against boards filled the cavernous space. Ethan stayed behind after practice, skating lazy circles, his breath puffing out in the cold air. His chest felt tight, his focus shot.
From the bench, Coach Harris watched him, arms crossed, the brim of his cap pulled low. After a few more minutes, the coach’s voice carried across the ice. “Ethan, enough.
Ethan slowed to a stop, leaning on his stick. “Just a few more laps.
“You’re not chasing laps,” Coach replied, his tone sharp but not unkind. “You’re chasing your thoughts. Get over here.”
Reluctantly, Ethan skated off and climbed over the boards, dropping onto the bench with a heavy sigh. His gloves dangled from his hands, his knuckles still bandaged.
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