TRISTAN
The sharp chill of the rink hit me as soon as I walked in, cutting through my jacket and waking me up more effectively than the two cups of coffee I’d downed earlier. The faint scent of sweat and ice mixed with the sound of skates carving into the frozen surface. It was a cacophony of chaos and control, one I hadn’t realized I missed until now.
“Tristan!”
Gary’s voice boomed across the rink as I stepped inside. He was already geared up, his helmet tucked under his arm, a crooked grin plastered across his face. I gave him a nod, my lips tugging into a small smile as I made my way over to the locker room. My teammates were scattered around, lacing up skates, stretching, or cracking jokes.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Alex teased, his deep voice carrying over the clatter
