“Yeah. Kid's obsessed with both of you now. Keeps asking when Soren's coming back for another lesson and if you're going to visit again.” Finn's grin softened into warmth that made him look younger than he was. “Soren's really good with him. Patient. Creative. Jamie's learned more in the past few months than he did in the two years before that.”
“Soren's good at a lot of things people don't give him credit for.” The words came out before I could stop them, and I saw Finn's eyebrows raise slightly.
“You care about him.” He said it simply, without judgment, just stating what he'd observed. “That's good. He seems like he could use people who give a damn.”
“He's got people.” I grabbed the bar again because this conversation was getting too close to territory I didn't know how to navigate. “His siblings, his band, you and Jamie now apparently.”
“Yeah, but there's caring and then there'scaring, you know?” Finn pushed off the rack and stretched his arms over his head. “Anyway, I'm glad you guys found each other again. Sometimes the universe gets one right.”
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded and went back to my set. Finn wandered off to bother someone else, and I tried to focus on the weight and the burn in my muscles instead of the tangle of feelings his words had kicked up.
Coach showed up about twenty minutes later, cutting through the gym with Jace trailing behind him carrying a tablet and looking like he'd already had too much coffee. The entire team noticed immediately and started gravitating toward the center of the room without being told, because when Coach had an announcement, you listened.
“First playoff matchup is set,” Coach said without preamble, crossing his arms and surveying us with an expression that suggested he was already calculating every possible way thiscould go wrong. “Montreal Maples, away game, next week. They're fast, they're physical, and they've been gunning for us all season. We need to be ready.”
The energy in the room shifted instantly. The Maples were a nightmare matchup for a first playoff game, all speed and aggression and a fanbase that made home ice advantage feel like psychological warfare. Playing them away meant walking into hostile territory and trying to survive long enough to bring the series back home.
“We've got a week to prepare,” Coach continued. “That means film sessions, system reviews, and making sure every single one of you is in peak condition. No injuries, no stupid decisions, no distractions. Playoffs are a different animal, and if we're not locked in from the first puck drop, they'll tear us apart.”
“No pressure,” Mason muttered from somewhere behind me, and I heard a few guys laugh nervously.
“Pressure's the job,” Coach said flatly. “Get used to it. We start video tomorrow at ten. Don't be late.”
He walked out with Jace still glued to his side, and the gym erupted into conversations about the Maples and away games and whether we'd pull off a win or get destroyed in front of their crowd. I stayed quiet, running through systems in my head and trying to ignore the fact that now I had Soren's parents, Leroy's investigation, and the fucking Montreal Maples all competing for space in my brain.
Soren calledme about two hours after I got home from the gym, and I knew within three words that he was drunk.
“Rook.” His voice was too loose, too bright, the edges blurred in ways that made alarm bells go off in my head. “You should come meet me. There's this club downtown, it's loud as hell and the drinks are cheap and I think you'd like it.”
“Soren, are you okay?”
“I'm great. I'm fantastic. I'm living my best fucking life.” He laughed, and the sound was wrong enough to make my chest tighten. “Come on, just for a bit. I promise I won't make you dance if you don't want to.”
I was already grabbing my keys. “What's the address?”
He rattled it off, stumbling over a few of the words, and I committed it to memory before he could lose the thread entirely. “Stay there. I'm coming now.”
“You're the best, you know that?” The warmth in his voice was so genuine it hurt. “Always showing up when I need you.”
“Just stay put, Soren. I'll be there in fifteen.”
The club was exactly the kind of place I hated. Too loud, too crowded, lights strobing in patterns that made my eyes ache, bass so heavy I could feel it rattling my ribs from the parking lot. I found Soren near the bar, leaning against the counter with a drink in hand and a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes.
He lit up when he saw me, pushing off the bar and weaving through the crowd with the kind of loose coordination that came from being several drinks past good judgment. “You came!”
“Of course I came.” I caught him by the elbow when he stumbled slightly, steadying him before he could knock into anyone. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” He grinned up at me, and I could see the exhaustion hiding underneath the forced brightness. “Come dance with me.”
“Soren—”
“Please?” He was already pulling me toward the dance floor, and I followed because leaving him alone in this state feltimpossible. “Just one song. Then you can lecture me about responsible alcohol consumption or whatever you're planning to say.”
The dance floor was a mess of bodies moving in rhythm to music I didn't recognize, heat and sweat and too many people pressed too close together. Soren didn't seem to care about any of it. He just moved into the crowd like he belonged there, pulling me with him until we were surrounded by strangers and noise.
He turned to face me, hands coming up to rest on my shoulders, and started moving in a way that made my brain short-circuit. Not obscene, exactly, but close enough that I didn't know where to look or what to do with my hands or how to process the fact that Soren was dancing against me like he was trying to fuck me through our clothes.
“You're tense,” he said, leaning in close enough that I could hear him over the music. “Relax. Nobody's watching us.”
