“Flow drill!Keep the feet moving!Carter, I want you aggressive on the angles!”
I pushed out to the top of the paint.Shot from the point—snap.Glove save.
I dropped the puck, reset.
Shot from the slot—thud.Blocker.
I was in the zone.The puck looked like a beach ball.My edges were biting perfectly into the ice.
“Looking sharp, Monk!”Ryan yelled, skating by.
I felt good.Fast.Singular.
But in the back of my mind, a clock was ticking.Austen is in the city.Austen is close.
The team bus smelled like stale coffee and nervous energy as we pulled up to the Marriott Copley Place.
I grabbed my gear bag, slinging it over my good shoulder.My bad shoulder was at a steady two—manageable.
“Carter, listen up!”Ryan yelled from the front of the bus, waving a clipboard.“Odd numbers on the travel roster this weekend.You drew the short straw.You’re in a single.”
“Does that mean I get the king-size bed?”I asked, stepping onto the sidewalk.
“It means you have no one to talk to.Try not to cry.”
“I’ll manage,” I muttered, suppressing a smile.A single room.Silence.No listening to Morales grind his teeth or Miller play video games until two a.m.
The Boston wind cut through my tracksuit as we exited the bus.We flooded the lobby—a sea of navy tracksuits and massive hockey bags.
I picked up my key card from the manager, enjoying the weight of a solo room key in my pocket.I turned to head toward the elevators, scanning the crowd for the team.
That’s when I saw him.
Austen was standing at the far end of the reception desk, looking smaller than usual in his oversized wool coat.He had a rolling suitcase that looked like it had survived a war and a conference lanyard around his neck.
He was also arguing with the front desk clerk.Or, rather, he was politely stating facts while the clerk looked bored.How had we not put two-and-two together and realized we were staying in the same hotel?I headed his direction to see if I could help.I dropped my gear bag next to Javier.“Cover me.”
“Where you going?”Javier asked.
I ignored him and cut through the lobby, dodging a luggage cart.
“I have a confirmation number,” Austen was saying, tapping his phone screen.“Reserved three months ago.Standard king.”
“I see the reservation, sir,” the clerk sighed, typing loudly.“But the system shows it as canceled yesterday.”
“I didn’t cancel it.”Austen’s voice pitched up—a frequency I recognized.Distress.“I have a presentation at eight a.m.tomorrow.I need a room.”
“We’re fully booked.There’s a hockey tournament and the math convention.I can try to find you something at our sister property near the airport.”
“The airport is forty minutes away,” Austen said, his hand gripping the counter.“My presentation is—”
I slid up to the counter next to Austen.
“Problem?”I asked.
Austen jumped, turning to face me.Relief washed over his face so fast it almost made my knees buckle.
“Luke.Hi.What are you doing here?”
