LUCAS’S POV
The rink was the only place that ever made sense.
It was almost midnight when I slipped through the back door with my hoodie pulled low and my bag slung over my shoulder. The lock opened as I picked it. The air inside was cold. It was the kind of cold that burned your lungs in the best way. I turned on the lights.
This place… it was my escape. It was my punishment. My therapy.
I dropped onto the bench, pulled off my sneakers, and laced up my skates slowly. My fingers moved automatically. The familiar sound of laces tightening calmed me. I needed this. Needed to feel the glide, the resistance of the ice beneath me.
As soon as my blades hit the rink, everything else faded.
I pushed off gently at first, letting the cool air touch my skin. Then I went faster. I took sharper
