I don’t see George the rest of the day.
And I try not to care. Really, I do. But my thoughts keep circling back to the look on his face when my mom shut him down in the hallway. Like something inside him had been slapped quiet.
My mom’s words echo louder every time I replay them. George Hale was the last person who saw your brother alive.
It didn’t sound like a fact. It sounded like an accusation. A warning.
By morning, I’m more tired than rested, and my hip is stiff again, probably from tension more than swelling. Still, I drag myself into the rink just after sunrise. My limbs ache. My mood’s worse. But I show up. Because showing up is what Connor always did, and even if I can’t be him, I can at least try to act like I belong here.
Jessie is already waiting inside the trainer’s room.
