Leo The locker room smelled like sweat, melted ice, and tension that refused to die. Nobody talked much after practice anymore, at least not around me. Conversations stopped when I walked past, eyes shifted away too fast, and every silence felt heavier than the last. Before the scandal, the room had belonged to me naturally, effortlessly, the way breathing belonged to lungs. Now it felt divided straight down the middle, with half the team waiting for me to crack again and the other half pretending not to notice the fracture spreading under our skates. Coach blew the final whistle and barked something about conditioning tomorrow morning, but I barely heard him. My head was pounding again, sharp pressure pressing behind my eyes hard enough to make the fluorescent lights feel violent. I shoved my gear into my bag and stood too quickly. The room tilted for half a second.
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