Thin Ice Between Us のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 16

ETHANAfter Maya leaves, silence settles over the penthouse like smoke. It’s dense and invasive, filling every room until the quiet itself begins to feel hostile.I stand at the kitchen counter with a glass of water that I don’t drink, jaw tight, shoulders still carrying the ghost-pressure of a game that ended hours ago, but it isn’t the game sitting under my skin anymore.It’s him.Cal Mercer in that hallway, broad shoulders blocking the exit, eyes heavy-lidded and knowing as they dragged slowly over me. The memory lands low in my body with humiliating precision. I grip the edge of the counter harder.This is ridiculous. One conversation. One moment too close in a narrow space, adrenaline still high, tempers still hot, and somehow my body reacted to him with more immediate hunger than it’s ever reacted to anyone.More than Maya. More than any other woman I’ve ever been with. The realization feels less like discovery and more like exposure, like something buried deep is clawing violent

ETHANSix weeks after winning the Stanley Cup, I’m standing barefoot in my kitchen at eleven-thirty in the morning, weighing grilled chicken on a digital scale.There are people who assume discipline is loud, that it announces itself in brutality, in deprivation, in the kind of punishing commitment that looks impressive from the outside. But most of the time it’s quieter than that, smaller than that, less dramatic and therefore harder to admire.It’s four ounces of chicken, and brown rice measured to the gram. It’s water instead of coffee after noon, sleep instead of bars, stretches before bed, recovery work done when no one is watching and no one will ever know if I skip it. It’s choosing, again and again, not to negotiate with weakness or sloth.Summer camp is easy compared to the season, lighter skates and shorter drills and strength work designed to maintain rather than destroy. But I’ve never seen the point in letting my body forget what’s expected of it, simply because the calend

CALThe barbell crashes back into the rack with enough force to make the entire frame shudder. Metal rings against metal, one-hundred-pound plates vibrate on either side. The sound echoes through the empty weight room before disappearing into the steady hum of fluorescent lights and industrial fans.I lie there for another breath, chest heaving, sweat running into my ears, forearms trembling from the last rep.Fifteen. Should've been eighteen.I sit up anyway. Failure is still failure.The gym belongs to the team, but it's almost empty this time of year. Summer camp is optional beyond the scheduled skates. Most of the guys lift earlier, before the heat settles over the city, before the trainers start wandering through with clipboards and hydration lectures.I like it better alone.Iron doesn't ask questions. Weights don't care if you lost the Stanley Cup. They don't replay mistakes. They don't remember the last shift. They sure as fuck don't remember one goddamn hallway.I stand, wipe