Nothing.
I reeled in and handed the rod to Hunter. “Your turn, caveman.”
Hunter smirked and cast, smoother than he looked like he should be this early. We watched the line together, five grown men standing shoulder to shoulder, breathing fog into the morning.
Hunter’s rod jerked.
“Oh shit,” Tucker said.
Hunter yelped, half-laughing as the line pulled. “I got one.”
“Easy,” Mason said. “Don’t horse it.”
“I know how to fish,” Hunter snapped, still grinning.
The fish broke the surface, silver and flashing, and Tucker cheered like we’d just scored in overtime. Hunter landed it, clumsy and proud, and passed the rod to Grayson.
“One,” Mason said. “See? Easy.”
Grayson cast like he was doing us a favor. “If this works, I’m taking credit.”
It kept working, but the credit was shared without any argument. We actually ended up having fun, to all of our surprise.
Not every cast hit, but enough of them did. We started calling shots, reading the water together, shouting advice that was half bullshit and half instinct. Mason slipped on the rocks andblamed the captain. Tucker almost lost a fish and got heckled mercilessly. By the third catch, we were laughing for real, not just killing time.
I found myself leaning in. Listening. Adjusting when someone suggested a different angle, a slower reel, a better spot. It felt… good. Natural, in a way I hadn’t expected. Like I’d been bracing for impact my whole career and suddenly realized no one was trying to knock me down.
By the time we landed the fifth fish, the sun had climbed high enough to burn the chill off our backs. Sweat crept under my hoodie. The river sparkled.
And Mason looked insufferably pleased.
“Told you,” he said.
Tucker dropped onto a rock. “I hate that you’re right.”
Grayson’s phone buzzed then, sharp and out of place. He glanced at the screen, expecting nothing, still smiling.
Then his smile faded.
“What?” Hunter asked.
“It’s from Coach.”
We all went quiet.
“He says Shawn’s healing really well—” Then Grayson swallowed. “But he’s done. Out for the rest of the season.”
The river kept moving, the sun kept rising. And just like that, that familiar weight was back, settling over all of us.
25
Nicole
The concourse was already shoulder-to-shoulder when Landon decided he couldn’t sit still anymore.
He paced in front of the merch stand, hands flexing and unflexing, eyes tracking the open space beyond the glass where the ice crew was still fussing over lines and logos.
Frost Bank Center had that pregame electricity that never quite settled, the kind that lived in sneaker scuffs and half-finished beers and jerseys tugged over hoodies. An exhibition game still counted as a spectacle in this city. Surge fans showed up hungry regardless of what the standings said.
