crete and the air leaves he

half unzipped, and the synthetic fur drags across her collarbone, coarse and wet.

er is four m

le, and leave her s

e. Old rubber and cold concrete fill her nose. Her

her left nostr

nd the drop, her skin running too hot for the air. She drags her sleeve across her lip, a

der her nose and waits f

rlo

steel door, muffled, tobacco le

od out

he door. A skate blade

ite as rin

ull pounds, and a dry heave shakes her sternum. Nothing comes up. The crater behind

crete fast, t

actice jersey, sweat drying at his temples. H

ssi

ete. His hand reaches for her shoulde

ith the vibration coming off her, and his hand trembles above the fabric.

it. Air rattles in her windp

of Jonah's jersey. Fingers

s knee scrapes the concrete

ac

ck. "She's bleedi

aid

Pine resin and cold mineral fill the air, and Jessie flinches before her

ain. Martins bars his

She's burning u

hand

rm. "You handled the cage. You handled the

li

eat, then closes again. Pear skin turns sharp, vinegar und

ehind them. Her body sits miles away, fingers buried in the slush, curled and

shaped. Five ridges, one broken at the edge. She counts

e left that mark. A player. He

er nose won't stop bleeding. The air tastes of exhaust and dead grass

far edge of the dock

dark eyes track her locked fingers and the rigid line of her

her face. Silas w

against the synthetic lining, a tuft of white fur. Short guard hairs, tap

ut through hi

is jaw sets. He keeps his hands in his pockets and says nothing. Martins and Jonah ar

ches deeper into th

esn't flinch. His shoulder angles toward the parking lot, and

Medical bay.

leaving

That's what helps her." His

oncrete, fast and then faster, un

g into the denim. He doesn't touch her. The choice costs him, and it shows in the tendons a

her locked fingers scraping at the ice. A sound leaves her throat, mos

feel my

he concrete beside her fingers. The heat from his palm stays in the leather,

him. She grinds her teet

tremor returns, longer, and

yards out, a dark sedan idle

g from the mirror. He arrived early for tomorrow's exhibition, and a

. 22°F beneath th

ves on the loading dock. The rust color of blood on slush.

hay ride his jacket.

cket. He pulls out his phone, and his thumb moves across

firmed. W

out a sound and doesn't look back at the dock. Exhaust ro

d doesn't touch her. Silas holds the shadows, and the wh

turn beyond the t