I drag myself into the rink early the next morning, hoodie up, headphones in. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to see anyone. Especially not George.
Sleep barely touched me last night. His words kept circling my head like a broken record.
Connor wasn’t perfect. He should’ve sat out. It cost him.
I don’t know what hurts more—the truth or the fact that George said it like he thought I needed to hear it.
The lobby smells like wet rubber and cleaning spray. I keep my head down and head straight for the trainer’s room.
Jessie’s already there, leaning against the counter with a protein bar in one hand and her phone in the other. She looks up and smiles.
“Morning, Cranky Pants.”
I grunt. That’s all I’ve got in me.
She doesn’t push. Just hands me a towel and points to the rehab mat.
“Li
