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She set the basket down outside the door. “Eight-thirty.”

“Eight-thirty? Holy shit!” I jostled Cally’s shoulder, shaking him until his eyes blinked open. “Wake up, Cal. The alarm didn’t go off.”

Cally grunted, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the pillow, oblivious to the catastrophe that had befallen us.

I flicked his ear. “Wake up, damnit.”

“Leave me alone, asshole,” he grumbled, swatting half-heartedly at my hand.

“Get up!” I planted both hands on his chest and—using all my strength—shoved him off the bed.

“What the—” Cally tumbled over the edge, landing on the floor with a loud thud. “Ow!” He scrambled into a sitting position, rubbing his shoulder and glaring up at me, his bloodshot eyes blazing. “What the fuck, Mikey?”

“We’re late!” I cried, launching myself off the bed. “The alarm never went off. We have less than thirty minutes to get back to the fucking hotel. Coach is gonna kill me.”

The fog of sleep instantly vanished from his eyes as he lurched to his feet.

We raced around the room like lunatics, rifling through piles of discarded clothing. I found a pair of pants and stepped into them, only to realize they were Cally’s. I kicked them in his direction as he tugged my sweatshirt down over his head—inside out. I scooped up his shirt and shrugged it on, stuffing my bare feet—fuck my socks—into my boots, and dragged my duffel from the corner.

My mom trailed us down the stairs, Cally’s luggage knocking loudly over the treads until he hoisted it over his head.

“Give me two minutes to grab my keys and a jacket,” Mom called out at the bottom, rounding the newel post to head toward the kitchen. “I’ll drive you to the hotel.”

“We don’t have two minutes,” I replied, yanking open the front door only to be blasted with sub-arctic air. “Fuck!” I slammed it closed, my eyes darting wildly around the foyer for my jacket.

“Here.” Cally pushed it toward me, already wearing his.

“Thanks.” I jammed my arms into the sleeves, my phone slipping from my hand and clattering to the rug.

Cally scooped it up and shoved it into my coat pocket, then gripped my shoulders. “Breathe,” he instructed.

“We’re dead,” I choked out, panic flooding my system. “Hendricks is going to kill us, I’m gonna get scratched, we’re⁠—”

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I gasped.

He shook his head. “You’re not.”

I sucked in a loud, dramatic breath, my chest expanding.

“Okay, again.”

I took a few more deep breaths, and my panic began to recede—though not by much.

Cally pressed his forehead to mine, his warm hand settling on the back of my neck. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered as Mom snatched her keys off the counter and pushed past us, throwing the door wide. Cally was the future of the Marauders while I was a bottom-six forward who could get sent down for any reason—and this was definitely a reason.

“What was that?” he asked, grabbing the handle of his suitcase.

“Nothing. Let’s go!”

Cally and I hauled ass after her, my boot sliding on a hidden patch of black ice on the driveway. Thankfully, Cally caught me before I lost my footing completely. We opened the back hatch, pushing my mom’s stash of reusable tote bags out of the way, and shoved our luggage into the cargo area.

Once we were buckled in, Mom hit the gas, and the minivan’s tires spun a few times in the snow before latching onto pavement. The van rocketed out into the street, and Mom made a sharp left turn, throwing me against the front passenger door. I clung to the oh-shit bar as, behind me, Cally let out a quiet grunt. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see him sitting back up, his hand braced against the roof as my mom made another wild turn.

I spun back around to face forward, tapping my phone awake to check the time. We weren’t going to make it.