FROST OBSESSION
I clicked on the television, flipping through the channels until the ice came into focus.
"Well, thank the Goddess the defensive line stepped up for that score," an announcer barked, "because the offensive unit is looking sluggish as hell tonight."
The camera swept over the bench, landing on Brandon Cole. He ripped off his helmet, snarling at one of his wingmen. My breath hitched. He wasn't dominating—he looked frantic.
As the lens zoomed in on his face, I gasped. A massive, purple-black hematoma had swollen his left eye almost completely shut.
Bab Populer