Tyler’s POV
The horn signaled the start of the second period, but the break between shifts had left too much room for Coach Aster’s words to loop in my head. If we don’t win, you’re benched. They weren’t just a threat—they were a sentence hanging over every move I made.
I pushed off the bench, blades biting into the ice, the cold air stinging my face. Every stride felt heavier, like the weight of that warning was lodged in my chest. But beneath it, something else stirred—anger. Not the reckless, all-consuming rage that had cost me before, but a sharp, controlled heat.
It was almost like tapping the edge of what I’d been before my suspension, just enough to feel the surge without losing my grip. My legs drove harder, my stick met the puck with more bite, and every collision sent a pulse
