ElliotI watched Silver Moon’s first match three times.The first time, I barely noticed the hockey.All I saw was Damon.He stood near the tunnel before the opening whistle, dressed in Silver Moon’s dark uniform with the captain’s symbol stitched across his chest. His shoulders looked broader than I remembered, and there was a sharper edge to his face.He had always been strong.Now he looked hardened.His expression remained cold as the announcer called his name. The crowd cheered loudly, but Damon barely reacted. He skated toward the center of the rink, spoke briefly to his teammates, and prepared for the opening face-off as though nothing outside the ice mattered.I knew better.The Damon I remembered used to smile before important matches.Not a large smile.A private one.He would roll his shoulders, tap his stick twice against the ice, and look toward the stands to see who had come to watch him.Sometimes his eyes found me.I used to pretend they did not.The Damon on the scree
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