The silence stretched for another heartbeat.
"River North it is," Hayes said, breaking the tension effortlessly. "Walsh, you're buying the first round since you're so interested in Callahan’s dating life."
The tension evaporated. The conversation moved on. Nobody made it weird.
My shoulders dropped. I knew the team had done their research—there were articles about me being out, and I had never hidden it in juniors—but knowing people read an article was different from sitting at a table and saying the words.
Bishop bumped my shoulder. "For what it's worth, half my family lost their minds when I started dating my girlfriend. She's Black, and apparently that matters to some people. But the team doesn't care who you're with. Just show up and play."
"Exactly," Walsh agreed. "I mean, we'll chirp you about literally everything else, but nobody here gives a shit who you sleep with."
"Unless you sleep with someone's sister," Hayes added. "Then we care. Looking at you, Martinez."
The table laughed again. I joined in, feeling a tight knot in my chest finally loosen.
Rookie Night was exactly as expensive as promised.
I sat at a long table covered in white linen, watching my bank account weep as the veterans ordered appetizers, entrees, and bottles of wine that I couldn't even pronounce. But it was worth it. The camaraderie was intoxicating.
Luca sat at the far end of the table. He nursed a single beer and watched the chaos with dark, unreadable eyes. He had barely spoken since we arrived, but that wasn't unusual.
What was unusual was the way he kept looking at me.
It wasn't obvious. But I was becoming an expert in Luca Moretti’s micro-expressions. The captain looked tense. His shoulders were up near his ears, and his hand kept flexing around his beer glass.
"So, Callahan," Jake Martinez said. He was another rookie, a winger from Minnesota. "You really broke up with your boyfriend right before the draft? That's cold."
I shook my head. "It was mutual. We both knew it wasn't going to work. Better to end it clean than drag it out."
"Practical," Hayes observed from across the table. "How long were you together?"
"About a year. We met at a hockey charity event." I smiled at the memory. "He was great. Just... not the right timing."
Down the table, Luca stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loud and harsh against the floor.
"Need some air," the captain muttered.
He headed for the exit before anyone could respond. He walked fast, like the room was on fire.
I watched him go.
"Don't worry about it," Walsh said quietly, leaning over. "Cap gets weird about personal stuff sometimes. He's intensely private."
Private.That was one word for it.
I had noticed that Luca never participated in locker room talk about dating. He never mentioned a partner. He never talked about his weekend plans beyond generic answers. It was like Luca Moretti ceased to exist the moment he stepped out of the rink.
But the look on Luca’s face just now hadn't been privacy. It hadn't been boredom.
It had been fear.
The realization hit me hard. Luca Moretti—the man who blocked shots with his body and fought guys four inches taller than him—was afraid.
And I was pretty sure I knew why.
I found him outside.
Luca was leaning against the brick wall of the alley beside the restaurant entrance. He had his phone in his hand, but the screen was dark. He was staring at nothing.
