Morning practice hit like a collision I couldn’t dodge.
I stepped onto the ice still carrying the ghost of last night—the kitchen counter at my back, Caleb’s overwhelming presence behind me, the way the air between us had felt thick enough to choke on. The thin walls of the house had betrayed us both. I had heard every restless shift of his bed, every low, strained breath. I had lain awake long after, heart pounding, fighting the pull that made me want to press my ear closer to the drywall.
Now, in the cold light of day, Caleb was ice incarnate.
He ran drills with ruthless efficiency, voice sharp as a blade cutting across the rink. His eyes barely touched me—except for the rare moments they did. Then the look was heavier, darker, loaded with everything we had left unsaid in that kitchen
