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As if only just now hearing what her words had implied, Paige laughed too, smacking Sydney’s arm. “You know what I mean.”

Syd picked up her drink. “Of course I know what you mean. I’m your bestie.”

Paige shook her head as if she was annoyed, but her expression was fond.

“Anyway,” she said, her tone indicating the subject was closed. “Sean said you live with one of the other guys on your team?”

She glanced down at her drink, twirled the straw through the berries, basil, and ice, then back up at me.

“His bestie,” Nielson said, making disgusting kissing noises. “They have cute nicknames for each other and everything.”

“We’re hockey players,” I pointed out. “Everyone has a nickname.”

“True,” Nielson conceded. “But not the kind that only one person’s allowed to use.”

Paige lifted her drink to her mouth, her lips wrapping around the straw. Her earlier words came back to me as her eyes stayed locked on me, like she could see inside my brain: I know when someone’s lying.

“You’re full of shit, Nielson,” I mumbled, feeling my face grow hot under her continued scrutiny.

Except, now that Nielson had pointed it out, I was the only one who’d shortened Callahan to Cally or C. Other guys used his full last name, or shortened his first name to Hunt, while a few even called him Legacy or Legs, for short. Cally or C wasn’t even that creative.

It wasn’t like I used some cute term of endearment or inside joke between us. It was literally just his name shortened.

“You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

Neilson snorted. “You’re telling me you missed it when Dawes called him ‘C’ a couple of weeks back, and Callahan bit his head off, yelling ‘don’t fucking call me that’ or some shit?”

I had missed it, though after, I’d overheard Dawes complaining about what a fucking weirdo Cally was, saying the team docs should probably give him a psych eval.

Later, back at home, I’d asked Cally what had happened, and he’d brushed me off, saying Dawes was a jackass who needed to focus on his skating.

“He said that’s not what happened,” I protested.

Nielson sat back and shrugged, looking at me like I was a stupid fucking idiot.

My knee started bouncing under the table. “Cally doesn’t lose his temper. You know he’s got ice running through his veins.”

That was the joke, right—that he was a hockey robot with zero feelings?

Nielson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

“And I’m telling you it’s bullshit.”

Sydney looked away, clearly uncomfortable, while Paige just stared at me.

Eventually, she set her drink down. When she spoke, her voice was bright. Fake, but bright. “It’s cute that you guys play on the same team, live together, and have nicknames for each other no one else gets to use. Minus the team thing, that’s me and Syd.”

Nielson snorted. “Yeah, but you went to pre-school together. These fuckers only met the first day of camp.”

“How long ago was that?” she asked, though given we’d already established that she’d been following the Marauders since our first season, I was fairly certain she already knew.

“Middle of August,” Nielson answered for me. “Wasn’t sure this one was going to make it past the first day.”

“Ha. Ha.” I deadpanned, though I hadn’t thought I’d make it either. The only reason I had was because of Cally.

Paige’s gaze moved over my face slowly. Then her eyes shifted to Nielson, back to me, and widened.

I tilted my head, silently begging her not to say anything about whatever she thought she knew.