rowdenhghs
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- Parts 33
"Who even-?"
Jia pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling the sharp, rhythmic throb of a bruise already blooming on her temple. She shouldn't even be in Chicago, let alone sitting rink-side at a hockey game. As a UCLA communications major, Jia survived on logic and order. This sport was the exact opposite: pure, chaotic sensory overload.
"I was the one who shot the puck. I'm sorry."
The apology belonged to Connor. On the ice, he was the league's rising star, hidden behind a caged helmet and a reputation. Off the ice, his world was narrowed down to empty apartments and the dull hum of post-game aches. He had his routine perfected-until one bad shot changed everything.
Strings were unraveling. Attachments grew. Reality is following. Connor doesn't do safe, he was willing to tear his world apart just to keep a piece of hers.