Focus. Speed. Control. It’s my mantra. Focus on the puck. Move fast. Control your stick. Eyes up. The puck drops, and Sully just barely wins control of it, shooting it back to me. As soon as it hits my stick, I come alive, bursting with speed as I try to lose my shadow. But he’s right on top of me. I can hear him breathing like a mastiff around his mouthguard, thick and slobbery. He shoves his stick in, nearly tripping me, trying to wrestle the puck away. Fuck, you’re gonna lose it. I have to get it away from me. He’s herding me towards the boards. He won’t be gentle, and I can’t take another
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