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Cole waited for one of them to withdraw or turn the disagreement into something larger. Dawson’s arm returned to the back of Leo’s chair instead, and Leo leaned into him while reaching for his beer.

Leo had said what bothered him. Dawson had answered. Neither of them had treated the disagreement like it might break something they couldn’t put back together.

Cole and Ford hadn’t argued about Chicago. Ford had been proud of him, encouraging every possibility as though Cole’s success belonged to both of them. But every question about Ford’s future turned into an update on Halsey, and every conversation about Cole’s ended with another reason he should go wherever hockey took him. Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that Ford was easing him toward a life somewhere else without ever admitting that was what he was doing.

Ford laughed at something Riggs said, relaxed in a way he hadn’t been alone with Cole all week. Cole let him have the moment rather than ask a question Ford would find another way around.

Cole reached for his beer and found Leo watching him.

Leo waited until Dawson turned to answer someone across the table. “You two good?”

Cole took a drink. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

“We’re good.”

Leo’s eyes flicked toward the space between Cole and Ford. Ford had angled himself toward Riggs on his other side and was listening to a story Cole already knew.

“Okay,” Leo said. He held Cole’s gaze a moment longer before Dawson leaned back into him and said something too low for Cole to hear.

Leo’s attention shifted to Dawson immediately. His hand settled on Dawson’s shoulder, thumb moving once beneath the collar of his shirt.

Cole looked away and found Ford watching him. For one beat, the noise around them dropped out. Ford’s gaze moved from Leo’s hand to Cole’s face, and regret tightened his mouth.

Then Charlotte shouted that Halsey was cheating, and Ford slid off the bench to intervene.

Cole found Ford alone in the video room the next afternoon, sitting in front of a dark screen with his phone face-down beside him. Ford had been missing long enough that somebody should have loaded film by now. The tightness in Cole’s chest warned him before Ford looked up.

“Friedman called?”

Ford uncrossed his ankles. “How’d you know?”

“Because you’ve been hiding in here without pretending to work.” Cole sat beside him, leaving barely any space between their chairs. Ford’s attention dropped to where their knees nearly touched before he looked at the blank screen again. “What did he say?”

“No change. He doesn’t think another week is going to get me where I need to be.” Ford delivered it cleanly, without anger or hesitation, then waited as if Cole were supposed to accept the report and move on.

Cole couldn’t tell whether Ford wanted sympathy or none at all. He settled for the only response that didn’t make the decision for him. “Okay.”

Ford turned sharply. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“No.” The accusation stung after a week of Ford refusing every opening Cole gave him. Cole turned his chair to face Ford. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what you need.”

Ford’s mouth tightened. His leg began to bounce, stopped when he noticed it, then started again. “I need my body to do what it’s supposed to do.”

Cole waited for more. When Ford gave him nothing, he moved his chair closer until their knees met. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then Halsey plays. He’s ready.”

The answer came too fast, polished by repetition. Ford had probably given Friedman the same one. He’d probably told Deluca and every coach who asked, offering them a solution before any of them could acknowledge what it cost him.

Frustration climbed into Cole’s throat, but raising his voice would give Ford something easier to fight than the question. “You keep answering for the team.”

“The team is what matters right now.” Ford stared at the dead screen as if a lineup might appear there and prove him right.

“You matter to me.” Cole watched the words reach him. Ford’s shoulders drew tighter, and his gaze dropped. He didn’t move his knee from Cole’s, but he gave no other sign he’d heard. Cole leaned toward him. “Tell me what this is doing to you. Not the roster. Not Halsey. You.”

Ford surged out of the chair. It rolled backward and struck the table hard enough to rattle the phone. “What do you want me to say? That it kills me watching somebody else take my net?” He rounded on Cole, anger pulling his face tight while something far less controlled moved beneath it. “That I don’t know if I’ve already played my last game and nobody bothered to tell me?”