"This is bullshit," he mutters.
The frustration in Whiskey's voice mirrors the feelings churning in my own gut, but I can't let it show. As captain, it's my job to keep the team focused, to maintain morale even when things are falling apart.
Especially then.
"I'm sure he has his reasons," I say, trying to inject a confidence into my voice that I don't entirely feel. "Wraith's never let us down before. We have to trust him."
Whiskey snorts, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, well, his timing sucks. Coach is gonna lose his shit when he finds out."
He's not wrong. Coach has been on edge ever since management announced Valek's addition to the team. He's been pushing us harder than ever in practice, determined to prove that we don'tneed some hotshot new player to improve our game. Wraith's absence is going to set him off like a powder keg.
"We'll deal with Coach," I say firmly. "Right now, we need to focus on getting through practice and making Valek feel welcome. We can't let this throw us off our game."
Plague turns from the stove, a plate of pancakes in hand. He sets it down in front of Whiskey with more force than necessary, the clatter of the plate against the table making us all jump a bit.
"Eat," Plague says, his tone flat. "Last thing we need is you passing out on the ice."
Whiskey looks like he wants to protest, but the smell of fresh pancakes seems to win out over his anxiety. He picks up his fork, digging in with a reluctance that quickly gives way to hunger.
I drain the last of my coffee, setting the mug in the sink. "I'm heading to the arena early."
"You don't want pancakes?" Whiskey asks like I've lost my mind. "They're good today." Plague shoots him a look and Whiskey cracks a nervous smile. "Not that they're evernotgood…"
"I'll pick up a protein bar on the way," I reply. "I want to try to smooth things over before Coach gets a chance to work himself up."
"That's if Coach isn't already worked up," Plague points out, already turning back to the stove.
"He is," Whiskey says when he puts down the mug of coffee he just threw back like a shot. "He was blowing up my phone at the ass crack of dawn as usual."
"You too?" Plague asks him dryly.
"Same story here," I rumble, raking a hand through my hair. Hence why I need to get to the arena as early as possible. "See you guys later."
"See you," Whiskey says with a tired wave.
Whiskey and Plague are still talking about the Coach's texts as I step outside into the crisp morning air. It's the kind of weather that makes old injuries ache and puts everyone on edge.
Perfect.
I pull out my phone. No new messages. The knot in my stomach tightens as I type out and send just one more text. I’m not using the obnoxious pack group chat for this one.
THANE
Please just let me know you're okay.
I don't expect a response. Wraith has been radio silent for so long now, which isn't unusual for him, but...
Something feels different this time.
Even at this hour, there's activity at the arena. Maintenance crews arriving, cleaning staff finishing up their early shifts. A few eager fans already camping out by the players' entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of their heroes.
My phone buzzes.
A one-word text from Wraith.
WRAITH
yes
