Skating on thin hearts のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The air inside the rink was sharp and cold, every breath searing his lungs like frost. The crowd was already restless, cheering, jeering, stamping their feet against the metal bleachers. It didn’t matter which side they were on. Tonight, they wanted blood.Atlan Wolfe tugged his helmet down, stick gripped tight between his gloves. His coach barked orders from the bench, but he barely heard them over the roar. He didn’t play hockey to follow rules. He played because it was the only place where he could hit, shove, fight and be applauded for it.The puck dropped.Immediately, Atlan launched forward, blades tearing across the ice. The world blurred into speed and sweat. He caught the puck with a sharp flick of his stick, slicing past one defenseman, then another. The crowd roared louder, his pulse thundering in time.“Move it, Wolfe!” someone shouted from the bench.The next second, his body slammed into the boards. His vision rattled, helmet smacking against the glass. The rival player

Norman stepped out of the rental car in front of the five-star hotel he always chose when scouting. He leaned against the hood, dialing a number he knew would take a few rings before being answered. Typical James Carter, always making people wait.“Norman, my guy,” James’s smooth drawl finally came through. “How’s it going? Found our hidden talent yet?”“Mr. Carter, the plan worked,” Norman said, adjusting his tie. “Looks like Wolfe isn’t as valuable to the Flyers as everyone thought.”James laughed. “Norman, what have I always told you? We see the long term benefits and one of them is getting him to win us the Stanley cup. If the Flyers do not value him, he Blackhawks are ready to take him in.”“Yeah,” Norman said slowly. “But I have to warn you, Wolfe’s not in good shape. He’s going through a rough patch. It could jeopardize his career.”“We’ve monitored him for almost a year,” James replied. “We’re not letting him slip through our fingers. Whatever ‘rough patch’ he’s in, a paycheck

Carter Enterprises towered above the Chicago skyline, a monument of glass and steel that glittered in the morning sun. Its mirrored façade reflected the restless city beneath, but inside, the mood was anything but calm.The boardroom stretched wide, a long mahogany table gleaming under recessed lights, the Carter crest etched discreetly into its surface. Around it sat the Blackhawks’ management team and Carter Enterprises board members, a collection of sharp suits and sharper gazes. At the head of the table, James Carter leaned back in his chair, one arm slung casually across the armrest, as though this gathering were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Beside him, Sophia Carter stood, the very picture of precision and power in her tailored Armani suit, every line and thread radiating authority.Her voice sliced through the murmurs.“Welcome, everyone, to our annual welfare meeting,” she began, smooth and commanding. “As you know, Carter Enterprises prides itself on efficiency,

Atlan walked into the rink with his duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder. The past few days had been a blur, and he was more than ready to get back to the one thing that grounded him, hockey. The sharp blast of a whistle echoed across the rink. “Time off!” Coach Miller barked, and the players skated off, some gulping water, others catching their breath on the bench. The coach spotted Atlan lingering by the boards and strode over, his gaze sharp. “Wolfe,” Coach Miller said, extending a firm hand. Atlan shook it, feeling the weight of the coach’s stare. “You’re late. First day of practice, and you walk in after the whistle.” Atlan scratched the back of his neck, trying for casual. “Yeah, sorry about that. My alarm didn’t go off.” Coach Miller didn’t flinch. His tone was clipped, measured. “This isn’t the Flyers, son. We run on discipline here. If practice starts at ten, you’re on the ice at ten. Understood?” Atlan shifted uncomfortably as he realized every pair of eyes in

Atlan walked to the sleek black car waiting outside the bar and knocked on the passenger window. James rolled it down, eyes glinting with amusement. “So, what’s going on? Are you going to come in or what?” Atlan asked, leaning down slightly. “Nah. Bars like this aren’t my style.” James’s voice was cool, controlled. “Get in. Let’s go for a spin. There are some very important people who want to meet you.” He pressed a button, and the locks clicked open. Atlan raised his brows, clearly confused. “I think the proper thing you should’ve done was inform me beforehand about this meeting. I just came from practice. Not exactly dressed to impress.” James cocked his head and gave a wry smile. “I don’t like repeating my orders, Wolfe. Get in.” Atlan paused, jaw tightening. He wanted to snap back, but his pride stopped him. Instead, he pursed his lips, opened the door, and slid into the leather seat. The car smelled faintly of expensive cologne and power, James’s world, not his. As the car