The basement laundry room had transcended its utilitarian purpose, evolving quietly into their unspoken sanctuary. Beneath the main floor of the chaotic team house, it was a subterranean pocket of isolation where the persistent roar of the world above finally thinned out into nothingness.
Danica stood motionless in front of the humming dryer, her fingers idly curling into the fabric of the warm practice gear she was supposed to be folding. The machine’s rhythmic, heavy vibration traveled steadily up through her palms, anchoring her to the present moment as the heat radiated into her still-bruised ribs. She looked down at her torso. The deep, ugly purple marks left behind by Kane’s brutal hits on the ice had begun their slow, sickly transition into shades of yellow and green. Yet, every mi
