Marcus's POV
I feel it before anything actually goes wrong.
That crawling, skin-prickling sense like the universe has wound its arm back and is about to throw something sharp straight at my head.
The rink smells like cold steel and rubber, the familiar comfort of it usually settling my thoughts into clean lines. Today, my mind is anything but clean. It’s frayed. Loud. Stuck on replay.
Anna’s laugh.
Ben’s hands on her.
The way she looked at me afterward—firm, but still choosing me.
Coach’s whistle shrieks, cutting through my thoughts. “Marcus! Focus!”
“I am,” I lie, skating into position.
The puck slides toward me. I mishandle it. The blade catches wrong, the puck skitters wide and slams uselessly into the boards.
Damian snorts from the other side of the ice. “You trying out for f
