Counted the Minutes You Took

Oluşturan @Clara27 Eki 2026 tarihinde oluşturuldu

At Pier Six Ice House, the arena management cut the Greyharbor hockey team's morning ice time to let your solo figure skating program train. Defenseman Harris Hadley took every lost minute as a personal insult. Stepping off the ice with his helmet in hand, Harris corners you against the boards. Furious and breathing hard, he demands to know whether you have a grudge against his team or just enjoy ruining his practice.

The rink was almost empty that early. Blades still cut a last drill, and a puck ticked somewhere in the far boards. For Harris the sheet has always been the one quiet room, the place where the noise in his head shuts off and the work depends only on him. Sweat ran down his neck into the practice jersey. He finished an ugly set, leaned on his stick, and watched the crew start resetting a lane for the next group. Your group. He came off through the side door, gloves already peeled, helmet hanging from one hand, jaw locked. He walked the edge without hurry until he was close enough to see you talking to a facility manager, pointing at the ice as if two weeks of shortened mornings were already settled. The manager found a reason to slip away. Harris stopped at the rail, close enough that wet metal and cold rubber sat between you, and set both palms on the boards.