Cold Friction
By five-fifteen, I was pushing through the heavy double doors of the university ice arena.
The biting, absolute zero chill of the rink hit my face, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, my lungs actually expanded. This was my sanctuary. The sharp smell of frozen water, sweat, and athletic tape was the only air I ever wanted to breathe. Out there, in the Sterling estate, I was suffocating. But here, beneath the blinding halogen lights and the championship banners, I felt completely free.
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