The scoreboard showed the Surge still ahead, but the lead felt thinner with every shift.
My attention drifted from the game to the chatter around us, specifically the man who couldn’t stop talking about that injury.
“Guess we better get used to seeing Santos take more ice,” he said. “I’ll bet my last dollar Calder’s out for the rest of the season.”
My fingers dug into my seat as I turned to look at Ramona. Against my better judgment. She was staring at me with quiet consideration. A look that said “I told you so.”
My throat felt tighter than it had all night.
The game roared on in front of me, Aiden skating through the center lane while the arena counted down the minutes. But the sound of that fan’s comment replayed in my head, and Ramona’s silent stare anchored it.
Aiden wasn’t just a benchwarmer anymore.
17
Aiden
Coach didn’t waste time. It was five minutes before practice started, and there was an important piece of team business to cover.
He stood at the front of the locker room with his arms folded, eyes moving across the benches until we quieted down enough to hear the faint drip from the showers down the hall.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Mason’s done for the season. Broken ribs. Busted ankle. Torn cuff.”
We were quiet before, but now the silence felt dense. Like something alive. Then every head turned.
Mason sat near the lockers with a pair of crutches angled against the bench beside him. His ankle was wrapped thick enough to look like it had its own padding system, and the ribs under his practice hoodie were probably taped stiff. He looked like hell and still showed up anyway.
That part didn’t surprise me.
Coach’s gaze locked on him. “Tell me again what the hell you’re doing in my locker room?”
A few guys let out quiet snorts.
Mason adjusted one of his crutches with a pointed shrug. “I’d rather be here and watch the guys practice than sit at home watching Judge Judy.”
“Can you take my warm-up drills for me?” Cash Money snickered.
Coach just shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you boys about going at rehab the same way you do a game. Pull any crap, and all you’re doing is making the wait longer.”
“No concern there, Coach,” Shawn said. “Looks like Mason’s already pulled everything there is to pull.”
Laughter rolled around the room in a hot burst, and Mason awkwardly lunged at Shawn with an outstretched crutch aimed at his head. Shawn ducked, having the advantage of working limbs, and sent Mason into an extended reach that would’ve sent him sprawling if Grayson didn’t catch him by the scruff of his neck.
The laughter got louder, and Coach shook his head. “See what I mean? You think it’s a joke now, but when you’re not on the ice next season—”
“I’m not ignoring anything,” Mason shot back, a bit of frustration leeching into his voice. “I’m just not good at doing nothing.”
Tucker pushed off the bench. “We could fit you for a mascot suit if you want? Keep you close to the ice every game.”
That broke the room open. Laughter bounced off the walls, skates thudding against the floor as shoulders shook.
Landon tipped his chin toward Mason. “That won’t work. Everybody knows arctic foxes don’t walk on crutches.”
Everyone burst out laughing again, louder this time. Even Mason cracked a grin, wincing slightly as he shifted in his seat.I laughed too. It slipped out before I could overthink it, and the sound felt lighter than it used to.
Coach waited it out, then lifted a hand.
The noise drained away.
