“Good thing you’ve got us to keep you moving,” I tease lightly.
He lets out a scoff. “Please. You two bounce out of bed at dawn like it’s a competition. Some of us actually value sleep.”
Dean smirks knowingly. “Translation: we’ll have to drag you out by your ankles again.”
“I conserve my energy to be faster on the ice.”
“Or slower to breakfast,” I shoot back, earning a laugh from Dean.
But beneath the jokes, we all know the truth: we’re in this together, chasing the same dream no matter what.
3
TEDDY
DECEMBER 2
I’m met with a full house walking into the busy locker room after a gym session. The space hums with focused energy as players fall into their routines, ready to kick some Beavers’ ass tonight.
I drop onto the cubby bench with a small grunt and strip off my sweat-soaked workout gear. So much for calling it a “light warmup.” The afternoon of pre-game rep has my body and mind keyed up for the game. Heading toward the shower stall, I whistle “Sweet Caroline”, the same pre-game ritual I’ve had since high school.
A low moan escapes me the moment the warm water hits my skin. I close my tired eyes and let the heat loosen the knots in my tense shoulders. A few extra minutes under the spray is the only time I have to clear my head. It’s not just about washing off the sweat. It’s about resetting and getting myself in the right frame of mind.
When I finally step out, I towel off quickly, not wanting to waste any more precious time. As I make my way to my spotnext to theirs in the locker room, I catch the tail end of a conversation between Lance and Foster. Lance is bent over checking his skates while Foster lounges against the wood divider.
“You can’t keep blaming her,” Lance says, his tone clipped. “I told you it was stupid to let things go further without commitment.”
Foster grins, not taking our teammate’s words seriously. “It’s only messy if I let it be. I was having fun, not putting down roots.”
Lance shakes his shaved head. “Dude, you’re too old for the mind games. You’ll be caught up in some serious trouble if you’re reckless.”
“Trouble?” Foster laughs, carefree as ever. “It was a casual hookup, not a romcom-level love match. Chill.”
I chuckle under my breath at his blasé attitude while checking my gear one last time. Skates and helmet first, always, because safety matters. Then stick and tape. Lastly, the rest of the uniform. The steps are ingrained deep in me, like the ink on my skin. I’m not paying much attention to the rest of the conversation, but it’s impossible to ignore what they’re saying when it’s about Foster’s love life or lack thereof. He’s always in the doghouse for one thing or another.
“Speaking of trouble,” Foster starts, his voice lowering, “did you guys see the latest headlines on Seaborn?”
“Here we fucking go,” I mutter to myself, knowing it’s my turn to be roasted.
Lance snorts from his spot. “He made the front page of every single trashy gossip site out there. It’s gotta be a secret talent.”
“Don’t blame me,” I reply and toss the used towel into a hamper with more force than necessary. “Blame the paparazzi. They love me.”
“Instead of blaming others, you should look into your bad habits,” Foster points out, using the same damn words he’s heard from us countless times. “Another rooftop bar, another mystery blonde in your arms. I bet she was amazing in bed.”
“I wouldn’t know. She passed out and I tucked her into bed.”
Foster grins wider. “You’re such a gentleman, Seaborn.”
“Don’t worry,” Lance adds, shaking his head, “the gossiping won’t stop.”
“Bad press is better than no press, right?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light, even if the words taste a little bitter on the way out.
His smile drops, expression turning more serious. “Right. Nothing screams victory like confirming everything your father believes about you.”
The words land harder than I’d like, even delivered as casually as they are. Probably because he’s speaking the truth. Still, I shove the thought aside. No room for negativity right now.
“You good?” Foster’s voice is softer this time.
