“That’s a choice,” Marco comments.
“He’s tiny and fast,” Gordo argues.
“He’s unstable,” Connor adds.
“He’d bite you,” Dylan notes.
Coach rubs his temples, apparently exhausted.
“Can wenotdiscuss fighting mascots before a game?”
“Team bonding, Coach,” Gordo shrugs. “She’s one of us now.”
Coach sends me a dry glance.
“You sure you want that?”
I hesitate, then smile. I know he's joking, but...
“Yeah,” I tell him, laughter in my voice. “I think I do.”
*
The arena appears through the windows as we pull in. It’s larger than the Icebox, as well as newer and shinier. Their parking lot isalready filling with fans in navy and white jerseys as their mascot—a giant crow—dances outside the front entrance.
“That crow is scarier than our moose,” Connor comments.
“That’s because our moose looks like he pays taxes and asks about your day,” Dylan fires back.
The bus rolls to a stop at the players’ entrance, and the doors hiss open. Adrenaline spikes across the aisle as cold air rushes in, their alpha instinct snapping into place.
Coach stands and claps his hands sharply.
“Alright, boys: you know the drill. Bags off, gear in, warm up, then meetings. Keep your heads and play smart. No stupid penalties.”
He pauses, then looks right at Beau.
“And before anyone gets any ideas,” Coach adds, voice dry, “yes. Wolfe is cleared.”
A ripple moves through the bus. Not surprise—more like collective, cautious approval.
“Light minutes,” Coach continues, already holding up a finger before Beau can so much as shift in his seat. “End of the third,ifwe need you. You’ve earned it with the work you’ve been putting in. You’ve followed the program, you’ve listened,and—” his gaze flicks briefly to me “—we’ve talked it through.”
I incline my head once. Coach is right. This wasn’t a snap decision: it was weeks of controlled reps, careful monitoring, and Beau doing exactly what he was told for once.
Coach looks back at him.
“This isn’t a comeback tour. This is a test. You feel anything off, you’re done. No arguments.”
Beau doesn’t say a word as he nods, but I don’t miss the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the smallest tell of satisfaction he ever allows himself.
“And don’t get cocky about it, either,” Coach snorts. “If that shoulder pops out tonight, I’m retiring early and naming you personally responsible.”
A few of the guys laugh, and Connor mutters something about it being worth it under his breath.
Coach steps into the aisle as the guys begin to move, then glances back at me.
“You stay close,” he says. “Don’t wander.”
