I froze in the service corridor, staring at the frosted glass doors as they swung shut.
A rush of panic suddenly filled me as I heard heavy footsteps thudding on the concrete, coming closer. I only had three seconds to hide before whoever it was rounded the corner and caught me sneaking out of Ryder Maddox’s private ice session.
I dived behind a large metal cart full of goalie pads and pressed my back flat against the cold wall. I held my breath, my heart pounding against my ribs so hard you might think it’s staging a rib break.
The glass doors swung open to reveal Merrick, Ryder’s right-hand man and the team’s starting winger. He looked half-asleep, carrying a roll of clear hockey tape in one hand and a steaming paper cup of coffee in the other.
He didn't even look down the dimly lit
