The sun fell low over Eastbridge High’s athletic field the next day, its golden glow stretching across the rows of bleachers and the painted lines of the hockey rink. The air smelled faintly of freshly cut grass from the practice fields nearby, though the faint chill of approaching autumn clung to the breeze. It was a perfect evening for practice—perfect, at least, in Coach Simon’s eyes.
For Jacob Whitaker, however, the evening carried more than its share of tension.
Paul Landon had finally shown up, gear in tow, looking more prepared than Jacob expected. After the morning’s scramble to track him down, Jacob was relieved, though he refused to admit it aloud. Relief, in Jacob’s world, was often overshadowed by annoyance. But now, standing shoulder to shoulder with his teammates, hockey st
