The text tone on Ian Cole’s cell is as predictable as the pain.
He’s been felled by a slap shot. To the instep of his foot. To the exposed upper crust of his kneecap. To the bone atop his shoulder. Right to the gut. Wherever the puck hits, it hurts.
But it hurts nowhere quite like it hurts back home in Ann Arbor, Mich.
Because that’s where Mom is watching.