Conversation dips as we walk in.
Riley spots us and straightens from where he’s taping his stick. His gaze flicks to my hand, then to my face.
“You talk to him?” he asks under his breath as I pass.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Reed’s scratched,” I say. “Pending ‘team decision’ and ‘university review.’”
He lets out a low whistle. “Good.”
Across the room, Mike swears when he sees the lineup sheet on the board. “They really pulled him?”
A couple of guys cluster around the whiteboard, murmuring.
“Are we sure that’s necessary?” one of the freshmen asks. “We’re already thin down the middle. Lowell’s got two stacked scoring lines.”
“Necessary?” Riley snaps. “He drugged a girl.”
The room goes quiet again.
The freshman holds up his hands. “I’m not saying it’s okay. I’m just saying maybe we don’t nuke our own offense before conference play?—”
“If you finish that sentence,” Dalton says mildly from his stall, “I will personally introduce your head to your skate sharpener.”
A couple guys chuckle nervously. The freshman shuts up.
Someone else mutters, “We don’t even know what actually happened.”
I don’t see who it is. I don’t really want to.
Mason drops onto the bench beside me as I start pulling off my shoes. “Ignore the noise,” he says. “We can still run four lines. Coach will double-shift you if he has to.”
“Yeah,” someone across the way says. “Assuming he’s not distracted.”
I look up. It’s Lyle—junior winger, good hands, not a lot of brain behind them.
“Meaning?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
He shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just…big day. Big drama. Hope your head’s in the game, that’s all.”
Riley’s grip tightens around his stick. “You want to say what you actually mean, or you want to keep being a coward about it?”
“Relax,” Lyle says. “I’m not defending Reed. I’m just saying maybe we don’t torpedo a line over some girl you’ve been seeing for five minutes.”
The room sucks in a collective breath.
My vision flickers at the edges.
“Some girl,” I repeat.
“I didn’t—” he falters. “I just mean, this is the team, man. We’re supposed to handle stuff in the room. Not bring Compliance into?—”
“That ‘some girl’ could’ve been in a body bag this morning,” Mason says, voice low and deadly. “Do you understand that?”
Lyle looks away.
