she's mine.

LUCIEN'S POINT OF VIEW. The rink was empty except after a rigorous practice with the team. Except for the hum of the cooling system and the faint echo of my skates against the boards, practice ended twenty minutes ago. The second Coach blew the whistle, signalling the end of a hard afternoon in the freezing rink, most of the guys bolted for showers without wasting a second, and some escaped for their weekend plans. I stayed behind, working the puck until my shoulders burned and my hands ached. Pain focuses me. Keeps the world from getting too loud. The words my father droned in my mind about perfection echoed in my mind as I dropped by a few points from last practice. Staying back to earn my strike back would be punishment enough for me. I peeled off my gloves, flexed my fingers as I skated toward the bench. The cold air bit my face with a force, and a bite sharper than the edge of my blades. The first sign of trouble I encountered was the click of heels against the marble floors. It