NOAH

Ice shavings fly around me as I skate across the rink, freshly cleaned and scraped ice, as my skates leave deep grooves behind me.

"Her latest bloodwork showed that her white blood cell count was concerningly high. Now, we want to run some tests and look at the scans. It could be nothing, but considering her history, I want to be prepared."

Music blasts through the AirPods in my ear; my legs are moving to the beat of Kid Cudi. My thighs ache as I push forward, zigzagging around, going from one end to another. The cold seeping from the ice stings my skin through the thin material of my sweater.

"It's aggressive and fast-acting. We need to start your treatment immediately; because of the advanced stage, we want to think of a better regimen for you."

I push harder and faster. My breath escapes me in short pants. I taste the metallic sting of blood in my throat; my hands prickle from sweat. The hockey stick is firm in my hands; the puck slides violently across the ice as I slapshot it into the net before I skate around to grab a free puck and repeat the same process on the other side.

"I don't know if I could do this again. I'm tired. I want to stop."

I can't stop the words from replaying, the conversations between the doctor and my family constantly running through my head. As if hearing the words again will help me find a solution that we have not yet discovered.

This cannot be happening. Not again.

I skid to a stop when the music abruptly stalls, the silence deafening with the absence of the pounding music and harsh voices. My chest expands with each rapid breath I take, the puck gliding out further away from the sheer force and speed of my skating.

I should be the only one here today—I booked the rink for an hour to skate, at least until I could silence the voices or until I was tired enough to pass out. Getting high hasn't been helping at all, especially when I was an avid weed smoker before my sister's health issues arose. So now, instead of wasting away and getting high, I'm skating and throwing myself into everything that doesn't remind me that my sister is dying.

I turn towards the side where I had my phone and roll my eyes when I see Liv's best friend, Addison Kelton, standing on the bench with a scowl and arms crossed. For a tiny thing, she can be very intimidating. However, I think what she lacks in height, she makes up for with her personality.

With a deep rumbling groan, I skate towards her, my thighs groaning and aching, begging me to stop and rest.

"What do you want, Addie?" I slam into the barrier, crossing my arms over the ledge. She remains on the bench, standing at a distance, probably to gain the advantage of height.

Her hazel green eyes narrow in anger, her nostrils flaring, and her lips start to curl before she lets out a heavy sigh, dropping her arms to her sides. "How long are you going to avoid her?"

"I'm not avoiding her," I grab my water bottle and swallow a gulp, a few drops splashing onto my cheek, which I cherish—the cold feeling wondrous against my heated skin. I scratch my jaw, which is sprinkled with light stubble. My hair has overgrown to the point where the ends of my straight hair curl around the tips of my ears.

She scoffs, her eyes rolling to the back of her head before stomping down to the bottom level and leaning over the ledge next to me, "You are."

I'm not avoiding Olivia—or Liv as we often call her; I'm avoiding the situation. I hate to think that my little sister—who isn't even 17 yet—is coming close to death for the second time. First, it was breast cancer. With surgery to remove the tumour and radiation, she was in remission. But now—I grit my jaw at the thought—they found a malignant tumour that has caused the cancerous disease to spread through her lymph nodes on either side of her chest. It's spreading fast, and surgery isn't going to help this time.

"You know, I'm angry too," she exhales sharply. She leans her head down, resting her cheek against her folded arms, staring at me intently, with sorrow and sadness evident on her face. "But I'm also scared. Scared that I'm not going to get enough time with her."

I exhale, my nostrils flaring as I push away from the barrier, hoping the sound of my skates will drown her out.

Her days aren't numbered; I refuse to believe that. She didn't win one battle only to lose another. She's only 16! She doesn't deserve this. She still has so much life to live. She can't be robbed of it too soon.

"Noah," she yells after me. I can't be around her, watching her die. I choke on my breath, and despite the numbness of my skin, I feel a tear slide down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, harshly. I'm not going to cry like she's gone.

My chest constricts, and I stumble into the barrier as I struggle to breathe. I hear Addison's shocked gasp before her shoes slap against the concrete as she rushes toward me. "Noah!" I hit a hand to my chest when I feel like my lungs are running out of air. I get lightheaded, and blood pools in my ears.

"Breathe, Noah. Goddammit, Noah, you gotta breathe," her hands slap my back before squeezing my shoulders. She bends forward to meet my eyes and starts to breathe slowly through pursed lips. I imitate her, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth.

Gradually, my pulse slows down, and my breathing returns to a regular pace. Finally, I straighten, stretching my back. "Thank you," I mutter quietly with my eyes closed.

"Don't stress." I open my eyes to see her staring up at me with wide eyes, her pupils dilated, appearing more green than hazel now. "But Noah, you can't keep avoiding her. She needs you."

I pinch my lips together, "I can't watch her die."

"You're not. You're supporting her while she fights like hell to live. Because I'm not letting her go without a fight, are you?" I let out a staggered breath and shake my head. "Good because she's scared, and we need to be there to show her that we have her back. We can't let her see that we're scared too. She needs to know that she can lean on us."

I nod, exhaling sharply. There's nothing I wouldn't do to give her a fighting chance. It's why I got a part-time job even though I already have a hectic schedule. It's so that my parents didn't need to worry about me financially. It was the least I could do. With my hockey season, my education, everything tallies up, and I didn't want any of that to take away from her medical treatment.

It's not much, but I only need to cover my day-to-day expenses now, at least until the NHL draft.

The draft. That has been a constant thought that's also floating around in my head. I knew what the draft would mean, the hockey career I've dreamed of since I was 10. I already got my invite, along with Garrett, Chase, Miles, and Zain.

But getting drafted means being away from Liv when she needs me the most. I can't be miles away while she's fighting for her life.

I won't quit on the guys midseason, but as for my future as an NHL player, that will need more thought and consideration.

"I'll be there, I promise," I agree as I push away, skating one last round. Glancing up at the time, I notice I'm nearing the end of the hour I had left with the booking. I skate to the exit, where Addison sits, her leg crossed over her other knee.

"I said I'll be there," I huff, dropping onto the bench and starting to unlace my large black and white skates.

She shifts in the corner of my eyes, "I know, and that's great. Because she has chemo in an hour."

I suddenly sit up, going pale white.