The silence after the shot had barely faded when the weight of what was coming settled in deeper. Even as the sun rose, spilling pale light through my window, the cold in my chest refused to thaw. The words echoed again and again: “We’re watching.”
I tried to push them aside. I had to focus on the season ahead. I had to push through this, for my brother, for myself. But every time I stepped into the rink, the heaviness returned with a vengeance.
The air smelled like frozen breath and polished ice. The chatter among the team was quiet, but the way heads turned as I entered said enough. I felt the shift instantly. Eyes slid away, whispers hushed.
Coach gathered us, his voice steady but strained. The routine started, but the normal rhythm of drills and passes was broken by something fragil
