“Tonight said plenty.” He gave me a look.
We stepped through the gate one by one, blades clacking against the rubber mats, and headed down the tunnel together.
The noise from the arena dulled behind us, replaced by the hollow echo of our steps and the scrape of sticks against concrete. Guys were talking over each other about the last shift, about Grayson’s finish, about Hunter planting himself in front of their net like it was his address. There was laughter in it, the easy kind that came when a win settled clean.
I walked in the middle of it and felt slightly off-tempo.
I’d been on the ice for the go-ahead goal. I’d made the pass. Coach had trusted me with that draw, and Grayson had my back. Landon had pointed at me before the pile swallowed him. Mason had said ‘good read’ without looking like it cost him anything.
It should’ve slotted into place inside me.
Instead, my head was already moving beyond this game, this night. Was it a one-game experiment that paid off, or the start of something I’d have to defend every shift from here on out? Second line center wasn’t a title you got comfortable in. It was something you justified again and again.
The guys in front of me were riding the high, replaying the moments that tipped the game our way. I caught pieces of it, but couldn’t stay there. My brain kept circling back to the shifts I’d fumbled, the turnover at the blue line, the defensive scramble where I’d been half a step late.
Wins, for me, didn’t close the book. They opened a new page with expectations written across the top.
As we moved deeper into the tunnel, the cold from the rink left my skin and sweat cooled under my gear. They were talking about where to go after this, and all I could think about was whether tonight was enough to get me back for the next game.
By the time we reached the locker room doors, I’d already decided I wasn’t staying.
The guys filtered in ahead of me, voices carrying, sticks knocking against the frames of their stalls. Someone shouted about a bar downtown that had drink specials for home wins. Laughter followed, loud enough to bounce off the tile.
I stepped inside, crossed straight to my stall, and dropped into my seat without looking up at the whiteboard where Coach would start his breakdown in a few minutes.
My gloves came off first, then my helmet. I worked through the straps on my shoulder pads with quick, practiced movements, tugging them free and setting them on the bench beside me. Sweat cooled across my back as I peeled off the pads and undershirt, stuffing both into my bag without bothering to separate clean from dirty.
Across the room, Grayson was recounting the final play, tracing the lane in the air with his tape-wrapped stick. Mason stood near his stall, listening with a small nod when someone mentioned the screen he’d set earlier. He caught my eye once, like he expected me to step into the conversation.
I didn’t.
I unlaced my skates and slid them off, pulling on my sweatpants while the room buzzed around me. The showers kicked on, steam already creeping toward the ceiling. Coach’s voice cut through the noise, calling us in for a quick word before anyone disappeared.
I zipped my bag.
No one stopped me. No one asked where I was going. I was just another body moving through the room.
Grayson glanced over as I slung the strap over my shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
He studied me for a beat, then nodded and turned back toward Coach.
That was it.
I pushed through the locker room doors before the debrief started and walked down the hallway alone, the sounds of the team folding in behind me. My footsteps echoed against theconcrete, steady, unhurried. I didn’t need to sneak out. Nobody was keeping count.
Outside, the night air hit cooler than I expected. I unlocked my truck and tossed my bag into the back seat, then climbed in and shut the door.
The engine turned over. I pulled out of the lot and joined the stream of cars leaving the arena.
My phone sat in the cup holder, but the screen stayed dark. The way it had been for the past few days. Since Sage left me in that storage unit, with no ride back to my truck.
At the first red light, I picked it up. No notifications. No missed calls. No message that explained why she’d walked out without giving me the chance to ask anything real.
I opened her contact anyway.
Her name filled the screen, and my thumb hovered over the call button.
