There’s no pain or scream of bloody murder, just a light, steady movement that has my bangs knocking against my temples. I’ve closed my eyes as a defensive mechanism, but when my nervous system registers that there’s no immediate threat, I open them. The goal line is growing larger, which means that we’re… “I’m skating!” I exclaim, the blades of my skates whittling lines into the surface of the ice, even emitting a satisfying hissing sound. Granted, I’m not skating fast (and it’s mostly Hayes doing all the work), but I’m not huddled over by the wall anymore. Pride paints a grin on his lips.
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