If we need you.
He steps back first. And then he’s turning to walk away down the hallway like this was nothing more than a lineup change.
I stand there for a minute, watching him until he disappears around the corner, before I head into the locker room.
Owen looks up the second I walk in. “What was that about?”
I shove my shorts off and sit down at my stall, picking up my leg pads. “Matthews is starting.”
I hadn’t realized anyone else was paying attention to our conversation or that I said it that loud until the room falls quiet for half a beat.
“Why?” Talon asks.
I shrug. “Coach’s call.”
Owen studies me, likely putting two and two together about the phone call. “You okay?”
I start strapping my pads on, tighter than usual. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t look convinced, and neither do I.
I roll my shoulder once before pulling on my jersey. It aches, but not enough to keep me from being ready to play.
If he wants to test me, fine.
I’ll sit. I’ll watch.
And I’ll be ready.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brinley
I told myself I wasn’t going to watch his game today.
That was before he called me earlier.
He sounded fine, for the most part. A little distracted, maybe, but that’s to be expected before a game. We kept it short after he asked me to promise I wouldn’t leave Rixton. He asked how I was doing and if I needed anything while my car was in the shop. He offered to have Atlee give me a ride if I needed to go anywhere—the store, class, wherever.
I didn’t tell him I’d already made a trip to the store.
He would’ve been annoyed and made a big deal of it. He already doesn’t like the idea of me staying here. I wasn’t about to give him something else to worry about before his game.
I pour another cup of coffee and stand there holding it, letting the warmth soak into my hands. I have about twenty minutes before I need to change and head down to Broken Saddle for my shift—an earlier one than usual since the game’s bringing in a crowd. I’m hoping the caffeine does something for this tired fog I can’t seem to shake.
It’s no use, though. I don’t think I’ll get a good night’s rest until the new bed gets here anyway.
By the time I tie my apron around my waist and step behind the bar, the game has already started. Broken Saddle isn’t slammed, not like it is during my usual night shifts, but it’s steady. A couple of regulars are posted up at their usual spots. Two college guys are arguing over a pool shot near the back. The TVs mounted around the bar are playing the game. The volume is low enough, though, that it blends in with the crowd, which helps me pretend I’m not paying attention.
I don’t look right away. Instead, I grab a towel and start wiping down the bar, restocking napkins, and lining up glasses.
Every time the crowd reacts, my eyes find their way back to the screen before I can stop them. When I look up again, I notice it’s not Cooper standing in front of the net.
That makes me pause before I force myself to keep moving as the camera cuts to center ice, then to the benches.
“…and surprisingly, they’re sitting their captain, Rowden,” the commentator says. “There’s been no confirmation, but I’d say it looks like they’re giving that shoulder some rest.”
He didn’t say anything about not playing on the phone. In fact, he promised to block every puck for me.
