“This thing with Shaw isn’t fucking normal.”
“He’s got medical privacy.”
Mercer snorts. “Yeah, sure. The guy disappears faster than a magician.”
If I’m honest, I’ve been getting more irritated about it, too. What kind of medical condition requires this much distance from the rest of the team?
It’s not that Shaw seems unfriendly.
When he does speak, he’s calm. Occasionally sarcastic. But he keeps everyone at arm’s length.
“What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,” Mercer says. “But nobody avoids the locker roomthatmuch unless something’s going on.”
I shrug. “Maybe he just secretly hates us.”
Mercer considers that. “…fair.”
But the weird thing is - I start looking for him anyway.
On the ice he’s always exactly where he needs to be.
It’s everywhere else. After practice. Passing the arena parking lot.
Which makes absolutely no sense.
I barely know the guy.
We’ve had maybe ten actual conversations.
Most of them about hockey.
The realization hits me one night after another win.
The team is heading out again, half the guys already arguing about which bar to hit first.
Russo walks beside me toward the parking lot.
“You coming?”
“In a minute.”
He nods and keeps walking.
I stand there, looking around the arena entrance.
Students milling around.
Cars pulling out.
And suddenly I realize…
I wasn’t just glancing around. I was expecting him to be there.
Which is ridiculous.
Because Shaw never stays.
