Coach Jack’s whistle cut through the noise, signaling the start of practice. I shoved all thoughts of Amber aside, focusing on the drills. But no matter how hard I tried, her scent, her taste, her touch lingered, making it impossible to concentrate.
And deep down, I knew Night was right. Amber wasn’t just in my head.
She was under my skin.
By the time Coach called the end of practice, we were all drenched in sweat and panting hard. My stick felt like dead weight in my hands, my muscles burned, and my head was pounding—not just from the physical exertion, but from the mental battle I’d been fighting all morning.
Alan skated past me, clapping me on the shoulder, his silent way of saying, Good job, even though he had to know I’d been off the whole session. Aaron followed close behind,
