The rink felt different the next day. Not better. Not worse. Just different.
The whispers had not disappeared completely, but they had dulled, softened into something less sharp. Every pass still felt like a test. Every glance like a judgment. I told myself it was progress, but the truth was, I felt like I was skating on a lake so thin it might c***k beneath me at any second.
I kept replaying George’s words from yesterday in my mind: You don’t have to fight this alone. They had steadied me when I needed it most, but now, with the cold seeping through my gloves and the ache gnawing at my lungs, doubt crept in again.
Because George was not here.
His absence was a shadow over practice. Coach did not say anything, but his eyes flicked toward the locker room door more than once. Mia noticed
