Jacob Whitaker was not used to silence. His life, both on and off the ice, was normally filled with noise: the scrape of skates across the rink, the roar of the crowd, the smack of sticks, the rowdy laughter of teammates, and the hum of parties that carried him well past midnight. But now, sitting in his dorm room with Paul across from him, silence filled the air like a suffocating blanket.
Paul hadn’t said a word since he walked in earlier that afternoon. He had dropped his bag, pulled out a notebook, and started scribbling, his face calm and unreadable. Jacob, on the other hand, sat on his bed, arms crossed tightly, his eyes fixed on his best friend.
Frustration gnawed at him. He could still hear the question he had asked Paul last night—Where have you been?—and he could still see the
