I can’t focus. Not on the puck. Not on the players. Not on the roar of the crowd or the announcer shouting names I should recognize. All I can hear is the echo of Evan’s stick slamming against the glass. All I can see is the look in his eyes, sharp, furious, protective in a way that makes my stomach twist. The drunk guy is gone now. His friends finally dragged him up the stairs, muttering apologies to my dad and Coach Daniels. The moment he disappeared into the crowd, I should’ve felt relief.
I don’t. I feel… unsettled. Theo is still bouncing beside me, completely oblivious to the tension that just happened. “Did you see that hit?” he asks, pointing at the ice. “That was awesome!”
I nod, pretending I’m watching. Pretending I’m not replaying the last ten minutes in my head.
Mara squeezes
