Page 110 of Puck Me Back to Life

Someone walks in behind him.

Noah Grove.

The room instinctively straightens. Noah looks younger than I expected. Twenty-three. Maybe twenty-four. He's built like a hockey player but not quite as heavily as William had been. His auburn-brown hair falls a little longer across his forehead, and he carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone who's spent most of his life in NHL locker rooms.

The resemblance is unsettling.

Not identical.

Different jaw.

Different nose.

But the eyes...

The eyes belong to William.

For just a fraction of a second, my brain forgets what year it is.

Then Noah smiles politely. The illusion disappears.

“Morning, boys,” Coach says. “This is Noah Grove.”

A few players nod. Someone offers a handshake.

Noah returns it with practiced ease. “Happy to be here.”

He looks around the room politely, introducing himself to whoever happens to be nearby. Professional. Reserved. He doesn't seem particularly interested in making friends today.

I barely hear any of it. I'm still looking at Kai's stall. Still empty. Coach notices it too. His eyes flick toward the vacant space for barely a second.

Strangely, he doesn't seem surprised.

The realization catches my attention. He knew. He must have known Kai wasn't coming. Whether Kai called him this morning or last night, I don't know.

Coach doesn't comment.

Instead, he claps his hands together. “Everybody make Noah feel welcome.”

Then, just like that, the meeting ends. The room breaks apart. Players scatter toward their stalls.

Noah chooses the empty locker across from the equipment room and quietly begins unpacking his gear. He doesn't force conversation. Doesn't seem offended that nobody knows quite what to say to him.

I almost feel sorry for him.

My phone comes out before I can stop myself.

You alright?

Sent.

No reply.

I wait thirty seconds.

Nothing.

A minute.