MY ICE HOCKEY BOY
Every mistake earns a sarcastic quip.
“You call that a shot? My grandma hits harder.”
“You gonna cry, Hart, or you gonna skate?”
“You want that scholarship? Prove it.”
Each jab digs under my skin, fueling me. My muscles ache, sweat drips down my neck, but I refuse to quit. Not with him watching.
By the time I finally land a clean shot, it rattles into the net with a satisfying clang. My chest heaves, but adrenaline floods through me.
Jax nods once. “Better.”
Bab Populer