Outside, the rink hums.Inside, we build a quieter noise and make it large enough to stand inside of.I take the first defenseman through his range-of-motion while Wren cues him, correcting angles with that calm, bossy tone that somehow makes grown men behave.Every time the drawer in the other room buzzes in my memory, I replace the sound with her voice.
By the time the second player limps in, Atlas has shifted where she can see him through the half-open door without even turning her head.Kael’s shadow moves on the floor like a clock hand that forgot how to hurry.The world is not fixed.But the axes have been named, and it’s enough to keep our feet.
When the session ends, Wren leans back against the desk and looks at me like she’s waiting to fall and checking to see if I’m still there to catch her.
“I am,” I say, out loud, because some things need to be said every single time.“I’m here.”
Her eyes shine.She nods.“I know.”
Outside, someone laughs.A whistle blows.Life insists on going on.We let it.We stand in the middle of it together—me inside the room, Atlas at the door, Kael on the threshold—and for the first time today, I believe we can make it to tomorrow without breaking something we can’t fix.
Better counts.And today, better is ours.
Chapter 28: Kael
The rink looks differentat night.
Quieter.Colder.Honest in a way it never is during practice.The lights over the center ice are the only ones I bothered turning on; everything else is shadow, except for the long white spine of brightness cutting across the rink like a surgical incision.
I like it this way.
No teammates.
No rookies.
No whistles.
No noise I don’t choose.
Just the scrape of my blades as I push off and glide across the ice, carving silent arcs that echo against the empty stands.
It’s the only place where my mind lines up.
Except tonight, nothing lines up.
I stop at the far boards and plant my palms against the plexiglass, breathing hard.Not from exertion—though I’ve been skating drills for an hour straight.It’s the pressure.The information.The weight.
