My suitcase lay open on the bed, zipper teeth bared like it was waiting for a fight. I folded another stack of black tees and shoved them into the corner, socks jammed wherever they’d fit. The room looked like every other hotel room I’d lived in. Beige. Neutral carpet. A desk I hadn’t sat at once.
It turned out to be game 4 after all, and Surge took it to tie the series. Two all.
The team was beaten to hell last night. Bruises layered on bruises. Ankles screaming. Wrists angry. Shoulders heldtogether by willpower and whatever I could do between shifts. Theo had come to the bench once.
Once.
He’d lifted his pant leg and asked for cooling spray on his ankle. Joked about catching an edge. Then he was gone again, swallowed by the third period and the noise.
My phone rang. Front desk.
“Yes?” I said, already irritated.
“Ms. Hopper? There’s a package for you.”
“A package?” A dull realization poked through my tired thoughts. The tape. The delivery I needed yesterday. “I’ll pick it up on my way out, thanks.”
“Whenever it’s convenient for you.”
“It’ll be convenient to actually get a delivery when I need it,” I snapped, then stopped myself. “Sorry. I’m on my way.”
I ended the call and stared at my phone for a beat, jaw tight. Then I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and rolled the suitcase upright. This called for an angry email, and I typed as I walked. The subject line was all caps, and the body held nothing back.
If you can’t meet deadlines during Finals, say so and I’ll take my business elsewhere.
I rounded the corner without looking up, and collided with a solid chest.
“Whoa.”
My phone nearly flew out of my hand. I staggered back a step, heart jumping, and looked up. Theo stood there, key card in his fingers. He caught my elbow out of instinct, steadying me.
“Hey,” he said, with a smile. “Fancy running into you here.”
Cute. But I wasn’t in the mood.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just giving the tape guy a piece of my mind.”
He laughed softly, then looked me over. “I meant to come by last night, but after the game, I was just—”
“You were bushed,” I said, finishing it for him. “Yeah. I know.”
His smile faltered, and something flickered there and passed.
We stood on the swimming carpet with our bags at our feet, hallway quiet except for a door closing down the way. It felt like we’d both arrived at the same conclusion without talking about it.
“Walk with me,” I said. “To the bus.”
“Sure.”
We fell into step toward the elevator. Our shoulders didn’t touch. The space between us felt intentional.
He waited. I could tell. Gave me every chance to let it go. As if that was a thing that would happen.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.
He gave a short, surprised laugh. “What? No.”
“Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.”
