Tyler’s POV
The locker room buzzed with the low hum of voices and the clatter of sticks against the floor, but I tuned it all out. My gear felt heavier than it ever had, sweat soaking into the pads, bruises pressing sharp reminders into my ribs and thigh. Every breath scraped like sandpaper, but I forced each inhale to be steady, deliberate.
I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, counting the rhythm in my chest to keep my head clear. Anger still simmered beneath my skin, not wild like before my suspension, but tight and controlled—like a blade I could choose when to draw. Pride was mixed in too. I wasn’t about to give Cole, the league, or anyone else the satisfaction of watching me fall again.
Coach’s words echoed, sharp as a slap: One period to save your spot. It wasn’t just about hockey
