The Puck Beneath Winter — After the crowd thinned, Arden wanted one silent lap before unlacing, so she pushed from the warm bench into pine-scented cold, the boards ticking softly behind her. Read the full story →
After the crowd thinned, Arden wanted one silent lap before unlacing, so she pushed from the warm bench into pine-scented cold, the boards ticking softly behind her. Halfway around, her blade caught a rough seam; she went down, palms stinging, and the puck nudged loose from a chipped patch of ice. Beneath it lay a folded rink receipt, dry as a leaf: Same lap, every winter. Save me a place. Arden carried it back, slower now, and sat where the wood still held a little body heat, feeling the mountain rink make room for her.