Cold Friction
JULIAN
The roar of the arena was deafening. The cold air burned my lungs, a familiar, jagged sensation that usually brought me clarity. Tonight, it offered nothing but static.
It was our first official game of the season, and the ice felt entirely foreign.
I gripped the composite shaft of my stick—meticulously wrapped in the fresh tape from last night's interrupted ritual—and scanned the zone. We were tied 2-2 against the Kodiaks, a team of heavy-hitting brawlers who played dirty and capitalized on mistakes. And tonight, the Falcons were making plenty of them.
Hot Chapters