The player slumps to the ice, giving me a perfect view of the man who delivered the blow, only to find him. Rio DeLuca. Number thirty-eight glares down at his opponent as the crowd bangs their fists against the barrier, shaking the glass to celebrate the big hit. He moves to skate away, but as he shifts his weight on his blades, his eyes flit upward. To me. He freezes in place, and I watch as both recognition and disbelief dawn on him. His lips slightly part, those green eyes tracking every inch of my face, and I try to look away, but I can’t. I’m too locked in, too focused on the man in front
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