But now?
Now he’s...distracted.
He spends the entire warm-up staring up at the mezzanine hallway instead of the ice.He runs drills without his usual precision.And the second Coach calls a short break, he disappears into the tunnel like somebody set off a silent alarm only he heard.
Something happened.
I felt it earlier — in the way he said Wren’s name, too sharp, too clipped.In the way he kept his distance instead of hovering like he usually does when he thinks someone’s hurt.
And Wren?
Yeah.Something’s wrong there too.
She’s on the bench organizing medical tape into neat, ridiculous piles.She keeps doing it, over and over, like if she gets the symmetry perfect, her heart will slow down.
But every few seconds, her eyes flick toward the exit.
Like she’s waiting.
Like she’s afraid.
I skate over to the boards and lean my forearms on the top, catching her attention.
She startles.Actually startles.
It guts me.
“You okay?”I ask softly.
She nods too fast.“Just busy.”
“Harper,” I say, “that’s the answer you give when you’re not okay.”
She looks down at the tape, fingers tightening around the roll.“I don’t...I don’t want to talk about it.”
I bite my tongue.Hard.
Because I want to ask.
I want to push.
I want to demand to know who the hell hurt her.
But Kael pushing her seemed to make things worse, and Atlas was one second away from punching a hole through the table.
So I do what neither of them can.
I go gentle.
I drop my voice into something warm.“I won’t make you talk.”
Her shoulders go slack with relief.
“But don’t lie to me, okay?”
She finally,finallylooks at me.
Her eyes are glassy.
