Marcus's POV
The air inside the rink carried that familiar bite—cold enough to nip at exposed skin but laced with the earthy smell of worked-in gear, shaved ice, and that peculiar chemical tang the Zamboni always left behind. It was the kind of atmosphere that seeped under my skin, grown up in, lived in, breathed in. But today it pressed on me heavier than usual, thick with the ache of a week spent in nonstop drills and conditioning circuits.
Coach Halden wasn’t subtle. He didn’t need to be. My father had always had a way of getting what he wanted, especially when it came to me and my brothers. Coach wasn’t exactly known for resisting pressure from influential donors. So, when dad had demanded a tougher week—to teach his son some discipline—Coach delivered.
I dug my edges into the ice a
