“I’m seconds away from committing a homicide.” I close my eyes and try to practice centering myself like my therapist taught me. I try to shove away all the external conflicts and distractions, but I come up short. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on hitting a goddamn puck when the man who divorced the woman I fucking love sits in the stands without getting a piece of my fucking mind? He left them because his daughter is deaf. Do you know how horrible he is?” “The woman you—” “Obviously,” I practically yell. “How can I not fucking love her? She’s perfect.” I sit down and throw off my
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