Even if it seems lucky we landed on the same team, it’s not truly that surprising, considering our roles as defensemen. We skate best when we’re skating together, so we’ve been a defensive pairing on every team we’ve played for. First in junior hockey, then for the Appies, the minor league team where we landed after the draft, and now the Jaguars, our home for the last six years. We’ve got two years left on our eight-year contract, and I think we’ll both extend if given the opportunity. We like Atlanta. But more than that, we like playing together. Theo is as much my best friend as he is my brother.
Still, I think, as I lower myself more fully into the frigid ice bath, it might do us some good to establish a little autonomy. We play on the same team. Live in the same building. Have all the same friends.
Across the therapy room, a door opens, and Nico, one of our trainers, steps inside. He looks at me and pauses. “Theo? Wait. No. Carter.”
“It’s been six years, Nico,” I say dryly. “It shouldn’t still be this hard.”
“It’s easier when you’re in street clothes,” Nico says. “In here, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to tell.”
Miles appears behind Nico, still wearing all his gear. “Carter’s hair is always shorter,” he says. “Plus his eyes are a lighter shade of blue. And he smiles more.”
Nico looks at the Jaguars’ team captain, his expression mirroring my own surprise. But Miles only shrugs. “What? You don’t get to be captain by ignoring the little things.”
“Fair point,” Nico says. He looks back at me. “Are you going to need anything else?”
I’m tempted to ask for a little bit of muscle work on my shoulder, but Theo will already have to wait for me, so I shake my head no instead. “Nah, I’m good. Just the soak for today.”
He nods, then looks over at Miles. “You? Anything hurting?”
Miles motions up and down his broad body. “I feel as good as I look.” Nico rolls his eyes, but I can’t help but smile. Miles’s swagger is a part of his charm, and his confidence is what makes him such a good captain. He shifts his gaze over to me. “I do need you. You have time to talk after your shower?”
I sit up a little taller, sloshing the icy water around my shoulders. “Sure. You want Theo too?” Most of the time, team stuff relates to both of us as much as it relates to one of us, and I can’t really think of something Miles would need me for that doesn’t involve Theo.
But the captain shakes his head no. “Just you. Did you ride together? I can give you a ride home if you need it. This might take a minute.”
A knot of trepidation tightens right behind my ribs. The first stupid thought that pops into my head is that Miles knows I’ve been thinking about his sister.
Couldhe know?
I haven’t even told Theo I wanted to ask her out, though he’s observant enough, he might have picked up on it at the team dinner.
But what else could it be?
“A ride would be great,” I say. “I’ll tell Theo.”
Miles nods. “Good. Talk to you in a bit.”
I hurry through my shower a little faster than I might after a typical practice, not wanting to keep Miles waiting. As soon as I’m dressed, I shoot Theo a text—he’s probably in the dining room for our post-practice meal—to tell him not to wait for me after he’s finished.
He texts back a row of question marks, but I don’t have an explanation to give him, so I close out the thread and go in search of my captain.
I’m halfway down the hallway, heading toward the dining room, when he appears in the darkened doorway of Coach Kimzey’s office. He’s dressed just like I am, in joggers and a navy Jaguars pullover. He fills his out a little better. I’ve probably got an inch of height on Miles, but he’s a solid six inches broader than I am. He comes by his nickname naturally.
He tilts his head into the office. “Coach said we can talk in here.”
Another pulse of nerves pushes through me, Sarah’s brown eyes flashing through my mind. I really have no clue what he could want, but I can’t shake the feeling it has something to do with her.
Did he see me talking to her? Maybe he saw me go into the pantry and knew she was already inside?
“Is everything okay?” I ask as I follow him into the room.
To my surprise, he doesn’t turn on the light. The wall between the hallway and the office is made of frosted glass, so we aren’t completely in the dark, but unless someone was really looking, I doubt anyone passing by would notice us in here.
“Everything’s good,” Miles says. “Great. You want to sit?” He motions toward the leather couch and matching chair sitting at theback of the office.
This whole encounter feels so ominous, I can’t even pretend to relax and just go with it. “I think I want you to tell me what this is about,” I say instead, though I do sit, taking the seat on the couch perpendicular to his chair.
He runs a hand across his face. “I’m getting to it,” he says. “But you shouldn’t look so stressed. You aren’t in trouble.”
