Sara’s POV
When I got to the ice rink, the sound hit me first — sharp and echoing. The scrape of skates cutting into the ice, the thud of the puck hitting the boards, the faint laughter of boys who thought they owned the place. The air was freezing, biting at my cheeks the second I walked in, and I could see my breath in tiny white clouds. I tugged my hoodie tighter around me and looked around, feeling a little out of place.
Then I saw him.
Or rather, I saw his name. The word KING was printed in bold white letters across the back of his dark jersey. It was impossible to miss. Archer moved across the ice like he was born there — fast, smooth, effortless. The way his body shifted and turned, the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he swung his stick… it was kind of hard not to stare.
