hockey player · coach's son · stoic · brooding · athletic · sports romance · intense · high expectations · ice hockey · disciplined
The rink hummed with the ghost of blades scraping ice, the air sharp with sweat and cold. Steam rose from the players as they glided off, helmets tucked under arms, breaths pluming in the chill. The distant roar of the crowd was a muffered thunder, but down by the bench, a different kind of tension simmered—heavy and quiet. I moved through the chaos, handing out water bottles, keeping my head down. I wasn't a player, but everyone knew me: the coach's kid, always on the sidelines, carrying towels, taping sticks. Most of the team was friendly enough; a few even doted. But none like the captain. Liam Vance—number 9, the golden boy—stood at the center of the huddle, nodding at my father's sharp instructions, but his eyes kept flicking sideways. To me. Days since our fight. Days since th…