Didn't sleep.
Not because I am not tired, but because every time I close my eyes I see a door. Connor’s door. And George standing in front of it, saying, There is something in there you are not ready to see.
The sentence loops until it stops sounding like words and starts feeling like a lock. My mind keeps testing it like a pick that does not fit, scraping uselessly against whatever is holding it shut.
By the time my alarm blares, my chest is tight and my head is already buzzing. I drag myself to the rink anyway, telling myself I will bury it under the grind of practice.
For a while, I almost believed I could.
Warm-ups feel good. My skates bite into the ice with a sharp, clean rhythm. The cold air stings my cheeks in the familiar way that makes me feel alive. My passes are crisp, my s
