I’m sitting in the stands, watching as the two teams slam into each other. My phone is buzzing non-stop in my hands. I know it's Elias calling to know where I am. But I don't answer it.
My mind is fixated on something else.
He’s off today.
Really off.
Every pass he makes is sloppy, every shot is hesitant. The first half feels like it’s dragging, and the crowd’s getting restless. When the buzzer finally cuts through the noise, both teams file off the ice.
He storms ahead of every one else, jerking off his helmet in the process. My phone rings in my hands—it's Elias. I slip out of my seat and head toward the back room with my phone still pressed to my ear.
I turn the corner and nearly crash into him.
Ezra looks wrecked. His shoulders are tight, jaw clenched, eyes stormy. He doesn’t
