I stare at the ceiling and let the numbers line up in my head.
Three days.
Three days until my birthday.
I hate my birthday.
Always have.
It’s not the getting older part. It’s not the attention. It’s the fact that it shows up every year like a reminder that I existed when someone decided they didn’t want to deal with the responsibility of that fact.
And last night, talking to Talia, brought it all back.
I slide out of bed, grab a T-shirt, and pull it over my head before I can talk myself out of the day. The floor is cold under my feet. The house is still. I move through it on autopilot.
Coffee. Shower. Training clothes.
In the kitchen, I catch sight of a sticky note by the coffee machine.
Good luck at practice. Don’t bite anyone today.
I try to hold on to my bad mood, but a small smile tugs at my mouth.
This woman is something else.
I leave with a little more energy, driving to the training center. Maybe Petrov’s drills will help me burn off the rest of this frustration.
The guys are already on the ice when I step out. Sticks clacking. Skates carving sharp lines into the surface.
I step onto it like I’m walking into a fight.
My strides are hard. My stops are sharper than necessary.
Connor glides past me, eyebrows raised. “You okay, Cap?” he calls, voice bright with the kind of concern that’s mostly mockery.
“Fine,” I snap.
He grins. “I can see that.”
We run drills.
My body is a machine. It knows what to do. It knows where to be. It knows how to hit the edges and push the pace until everyone else has to keep up.
It’s easy to be ruthless on the ice. Out here, aggression is useful.
Out here, it’s allowed.
I throw a check a second too hard into the boards and Declan grunts, catching himself with his glove on the glass.
He turns his head, eyes narrowed.
“Jesus, Morrie,” he says. “What did I do?”
“Skate faster,” I bark.
Rhys coasts past me, smirking. “Who got your panties in a twist?”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to crack glass.
