By 8:15 a.m., Jenkins returned to the rink and flipped his notebook open. At the bottom of the page, he circled a line twice and put a star next to it: Noah H - line 1 Friday?
Out on the ice, the tension was still obvious, but practice had settled down to quieter rhythms. The sharp chaos of drills was replaced by the easy scrape of skates on ice, the low murmur of voices, and the clatter of sticks being dropped carelessly against the boards. In the locker room, Chase moved straight to the wall, ripped the poster off and dumped it in the trash before stepping out.
Noah didn’t need to read it, he was already living it. He stepped out of the locker room a few minutes later and took a seat along the side, elbows resting on his knees as he caught his breath. The sweat on his skin turned cold
