“Look who finally shows up,” Chase calls, tossing a roll of tape at Logan. “Hope Lulu let you hydrate between rounds.”
Eli looks up from lacing his skates, eyes narrowing like he’s two seconds from homicide. “Say one more word about my sister, I dare you.”
Chase smirks at him, dodging Eli’s swipe. “Relax, Big Brother. I meant rounds of Mario Kart.”
“Same.” Logan snags the tape midair. “And you’re dogshit at Mario Kart.”
“Tell that to my turtle shell, bitch.”
“Don’t,” I mutter.
Chase wheels toward me. “What?”
“Don’t talk about turtles.”
Jake snorts. “Christ, you reallyaretraumatized.”
“It’s not trauma,” I say flatly. “It’s survival instinct.”
Chase grins, eyes immediately lighting up. “Oh, I’m bringing the balloon back.”
“You bring another turtle balloon near me,” I say, “and I’ll duct-tape you to Evan’s glove.”
Evan, our backup goalie, goes pale.
Logan grunts. “Better Evan thanme.”
“Pookie!” Chase gasps. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, my little schnookie wookie!”
He lunges, and one arm snakes around Logan’s head in a dramatic noogie attempt. Logan squawks and shoves him back, and suddenly, they’re wrestling like toddlers—sticks clattering, tape flying, Chase cackling like it’s the best day of his life.
“Careful, big guy,” Logan says, grinning as Chase tries to pin him. “Wouldn’t wanna wrinkle my Zoe-branded shorts.”
Chase’s smile fades fast. “You’re gonnadie!”
“Get off me, Walton!”
Jake doesn’t even look up. “If you two clowns get us kicked out of training camp, I’m telling Coach you’re both concussed.”
“Iamconcussed,” Chase says cheerfully as Logan pushes him and turns back to his stall. “From carrying this team’s personality on my back.”
Viktor adjusts a strap. “Your back must be very small.”
“Vikky. Did you just make a joke?”
“I am working on my social skills.”
“I’m so proud of you, buddy.” Chase slaps his chest. “That was almost human.”
I finish taping my pads and let the noise wash over me. The pulse of pre-season—familiar and relentless. I missed this.
Two stalls down, Evan fidgets like he’s about to be drafted into combat instead of practice. He’s our backup goalie who played most of last season, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he won’t meet my eyes.
“Uhh… Hutchison?”
I glance over.
He clears his throat. “Your reckon Coach is still doing that thing where he rips into you mid-drill, then tells the media you’re the backbone of the team?”
