“Come on, Robot,” Nova grins, using that stupid nickname he insists on using even when I’ve made it clear I don’t like it. “Where's the fire? The passion? We're going to dominate this year.”
“Save the celebration for when we actually win something, Nova,” Ethan says, wearing his usual scowl.
“Somebody's grumpy today,” Nova calls after him. “Did you run out of black eyeliner this morning?”
I stifle a chuckle as Logan hurries past us, his goalie mask tucked under his arm, saying nothing as usual. The guy's impossible to read on or off the ice.
After a quick shower, I head to the video room while most of the team filters out. The coaching staff is already gone, but I have my own key. I need to see those games again, analyze what went wrong, and make sure we don't repeat the same mistakes.
I pull up game footage from last March. A crucial loss to Boston that basically ended our playoff hopes. I watch myself miss a pass in the neutral zone that led to their game-winner. My jaw clenches. We've worked on that exact scenario in practice a hundred times since then. It’s muscle memory at this point.
I forward through more clips. Defensive breakdowns. Missed opportunities. Every mistake was catalogued and corrected in our summer training. The team looks different now. We’re hungrier and more focused.
We're ready.
My phone buzzes, jerking me from my thoughts. It’s Brett, which is odd because we spoke yesterday. Usually, we catch up about once a week by phone and occasionally meet up when he’s in Manhattan.
Like me, Brett was drafted into the NHL pretty early, and now, he’s the captain of the Boston Commanders. The team that knocked us out of the running for the playoffs. I didn’t let that come between our friendship, though.
“Hey, man,” I answer, still watching the screen.
“I need a favor.” Brett's voice is tight, and I pause the video. He's been my best friend since his family moved to town when we were ten, and he's the most laid-back guy I know. When he sounds like this, it's serious.
“What's up?”
“My sister's apartment is flooded. She needs somewhere to crash for a couple of days. Can she stay at your place?”
All the tension leaves my body. It’s not serious, but why is he asking me? I haven’t seen Harper since we were teenagers. “Doesn't she have friends?”
“Her best friend's place is occupied, and I’d feel better if she were in a safe environment.” Brett is using his most persuasive voice. “Come on, man. You've got that huge penthouse, and it's just for a few days.”
I rub my forehead. The last thing I need right now is a houseguest, especially with the season starting soon. My routine is sacred, and I can’t have anything interfere with that.
“She's family to you,” Brett continues when I don’t respond.
Fuck.He's right, even if I haven't seen Harper in years. Plus, I owe Brett more favors than I can count.
“Fine,” I say. “Just for a couple of days.”
“You're the best. I'm texting you her number now. Give her a call, will you? Let her know the plan.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
The call ends, and Brett's text comes through immediately. Harper Hayes, followed by a Manhattan number.
I dial without thinking about it.
“Hello?” Her voice is cautious.
“Harper, it's Cole. Brett told me about your apartment situation. You can stay at my place.”
“Are you kidding me?” There's fire in her voice now. “I specifically told Brett not to ask you.”
“Well, he did,” I say, already growing tired of the conversation. She should be thanking me, not giving me sass. I’m guessing she’s still as bratty as she was when we were kids. “And you're staying at my place.”
“I appreciate the very warm welcome,” she says in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I can sort my own problems.”
