Sebastian ripped off his helmet the second he stepped off the field, his lungs burning even though he’d barely broken a sweat. The stadium noise was still a low roar behind him—cheers, whistles, the celebratory chaos his team should’ve been reveling in.
He wasn’t, because he knew the truth. He’d played like s**t.
Not s**t by normal standards—by his. By the standard everyone had for him. The standard he used to wear like a badge of honor. Today, it felt like dead weight strapped to his spine.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, clenching his jaw as he headed toward the tunnel. His stick hung limply at his side, the way his shoulders did. His chest felt caved in, compressed, like something inside him was closing its fists around his ribs.
Focus, Seb. Get your head straight.
But ever since
