I skate past Owen and he gives me a one-finger salute. “This fucking blows, dude,” he groans, huffing after me. I force a smile and nod at him. He wouldn’t be skating beside me, casually shooting the shit if he knew what I did to his baby sister Saturday night. My stomach tightens and I swallow down a wave of remorse, then push myself harder. My lungs burn and my thigh muscles ache with the effort, but the cut of my skates against the ice is the only thing keeping me grounded at the moment.
