"Medium coffee. Black." He slides money across the counter. "And hey, nice article. Really balanced reporting."
The sarcasm is thick enough to cut.
"Thanks. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Watch your back. Captain's pissed and when Carter's pissed, people tend to regret it." He walks away before I can respond.
Isla appears at my elbow. "That was a threat."
"That was a child playing a tough guy." But my hands are shaking slightly as I make the next drink.
The rest of the shift passes without incident, but the tension doesn't leave. By ten, when I'm finally free, I'm exhausted, wired and dreading tonight's interview.
I spend the afternoon in class, then the library, researching Carter Lynch.
What I find is impressive and infuriating.
Carter Lynch, 22, Senior
• Captain of Thornhill Hockey, three years running
• Psychology major (surprising)
• From Minneapolis, Minnesota, hockey royalty, his father played in the NHL
• Projected second or third round draft pick
• Led the team to championships his sophomore and junior years
• Known for aggressive play style and fierce loyalty to teammates
• Multiple incidents of unsportsmanlike conduct on his record
• Academic probation freshman year, mysteriously cleared
In the photos he looks frustratingly attractive, 6'2", dark blonde hair, sharp jawline, the kind of build that comes from years of athletic training. Blue eyes that look cold even in team photos.
He's exactly the type I usually avoid. Cocky athletes with too much privilege and not enough self-awareness.
Of course, I have to spend the next four weeks shadowing him.
At 5:45, I pack up my stuff and head to the campus rink where I told him to meet me. It's neutral territory, public enough that he can't pull anything, but private enough for a real conversation.
The rink is mostly empty. A few figure skaters practicing on the far end. The zamboni is making its rounds.
I sit in the bleachers and wait. At 5:58, the door opens and Carter Lynch walks in.
He's bigger in person than in photos. Broader. More presence. He's wearing jeans and a Thornhill Hockey hoodie, his hair slightly damp like he just showered after practice.
He spots me and starts up the bleachers. I stand to meet him, refusing to let him have the height advantage.
When he reaches me, he stops two rows down. Close enough to talk, far enough to maintain distance.
"Hayes." A shiver moves through me, as he says my name..
"Lynch."
"Nice article. Really painted me in a great light." Well his tone is definitely telling me he's pissed off.
