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Becks: Probably should've bought it one.

Another message comes through.

Becks: I'm wearing your jersey.

I lean back against my stall.

Me: My favorite outfit.

Becks: Even with jeans?

Me: Especially with jeans.

Becks: Good luck tonight, Ken. Love you.

I read those last two words twice.

Still getting used to seeing them.

Still haven't figured out how I got lucky enough to hear them every day.

Me: Love you too, Becks. See you after.

“You planning on playing hockey tonight, or just staring at your phone?”

I look up.

Mercer drops onto the bench beside me.

“Multitasking.”

“Right.”

He starts adjusting the tape around his wrist.

I put my phone away.

For a minute, neither of us speaks.

Then Mercer says, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

I glance at him.

“With what?”

He gives me a look.

“Come on, Bish.”

I sigh.

“How much do you know?”

“Enough.”

“From Avery?”

“She's not exactly giving me a play-by-play, if that's what you're asking.”