Page 11

Chapter eleven

Dane

W e'd just tasted victory in another key game. The locker room walls echoed with the impact of our third-period battle and the sharp barks of celebration after Mercier's last-minute save. Gear came off with the rough rip of velcro and metallic ting of skates hitting the concrete.

I tugged my jersey off over my head, muscles stiff from the crash of bodies against the boards and the weight of too many shifts clinging to my bones.Before that final period, my body had felt untouchable.

Now, it complained like something that had been wrung out and left to dry in the cold.My shoulder throbbed where I'd taken an awkward hit, but the win dulled the edge of it.

Leo sat across the room, his hoodie slung over the back of his stall. He'd beenless of a thorn in my side.We'd beenin sync, carving through their defense, threading passes between skates, moving fast enough that our opponents didn't have time to adapt.

That didn't mean I wanted to stick around and linger in the locker room. After their recent treatment of Leo, I was happy to ignore the media. I finished lacing my boots, ready to leave before the celebratory bullshit started.

Then, Coach's voice cut through the low chatter. "Whitaker. Campbell."

A few of our teammates perked up their ears. Carver smirked.Somewhere in the background, someone muttered, "Uh oh."

Coach stood near his whiteboard, arms crossed,expression unreadable—it didn't register pissed, but not exactly pleased. I shot a glance at Leo. He exhaled hard through his nose. Neither of us spoke as we crossed the room, stopping a few feet from Coach.

He looked at both of us, then shook his head slightly. "Good game."

Leo scratched his jaw."Do you mean that as a compliment?"

"Don't push it," Coach muttered. He leveled his gaze at us. "You two are going to the hospital tomorrow, children's wing. It's a PR thing."

My jaw locked.

Leo didn't flinch. "We holding hands for the cameras?"

Coach didn't bite. "You're the most visible men on this team, whether you like it or not. And after that garbage you pulled at practice, I still don't trust you not to kill each other before playoffs. So, congratulations. You get to go be role models, and maybe you'll gain a little respect for each other along the way."

I exhaled slowly,forcing my shoulders not to tense.It was clearly about optics. Coach wanted us in each other's space.More forced time together.

"Anything else, or do we get to bask in our victory now?" Leo asked.

Coach's lips pressed together. "Show up. Be decent. And don't be assholes." He turned away, already finished.

Leo sighed. "I know I can manage two out of three. You think you can cover the last one?"

I ignored him as we walked back toward our stalls. I shoved my gloves into my duffel and muttered,"I know what he's doing."

Leo leaned against the stall beside mine, his grin lazy but his eyes calculating. "Making sure you don't punch me in front of sick kids?"

"Making sure we don't kill each other before playoffs."

Leo clicked his tongue. "Or making sure one of us dies so they can replace us."

Carver, passing by, snorted. "Can't tell if this is flirting or not."

Without missing a beat, Leo grinned. "Take your best guess."

Carver cackled and walked off.

I exhaled sharply, ignoring both of them as I grabbed my bag. Tomorrow couldn't be over fast enough.

***

Thepediatric wing smelled of plastic and artificial citrus. The latter was a too-bright, too-clean scent meant to hide something deeper—antiseptic, sickness, or fear. I shifted my weight in the lobby,hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets,already regretting the entire experience.

Leo stood next to me, more relaxed than he should have been,wearing his Forge hoodie.He had that same easy posture he wore after a game, like nothing in the world had the power to touch him.

The nurse standing in front of us—a woman in her early fifties with a laminated Forge lanyard around her neck—smiled warmly.

"Thanks for coming. They've been looking forward to this all week." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "We'll start in the playroom. Some of the kids can't leave their rooms, so if you don't mind, we'll do a few bedside visits afterward."

Beside me,Leo nodded. "Whatever works."

I resisted the urge to glance at him.He sounded normal, unbothered by our surroundings. The nurse led us through a secured entrance, scanning her badge to unlock heavy double doors.

Bright murals covered the walls—whales and sea turtles in cartoonish, exaggerated colors drifting through a watercolor-blue ocean.Someone had gone out of their way to make the place appear to be something other than what it was.Unfortunately, it didn't work for me.

A few nurses and parents milled around. I hadn't even noticed Leo moving a step ahead of me until I heard his voice—lighter than I'd ever heard him speak.

"Hey, man. You a hockey fan?"

I turned.

A kid in a hospital gown had shuffled up, IV pole dragging beside him,hair barely there. Oversized fleece pajamas nearly swallowed up his little body.He was maybe ten, younger than my nephew. He stared up at Leo witha mix of awe and disbelief, eyes wide.

Leo crouched slightly, making it possible to see eye to eye.He looked easy and comfortable, like he did this every day.

"Forge's my team," the kid mumbled, fingers twitching against the plastic tubing of his IV line. "I play, too. When I—" He stopped and cleared his throat.

Leo didn't miss a beat. "Yeah? What position?"

"Right wing."

"Damn, a sniper." Leo grinned. "What's your shot like?"

The kid brightened,shrinking less inside himself."Coach says I'm fast. I mean, I was. I mean, I will be again."

I tensed. Leo didn't react. He continued the conversation without a hitch. "Damn right, you will."

The kid smiled, and a lump grew in my throat. I turned away.

Something about it all—how fucking easy Leo made it look—weighed me down.I was the one who was supposed to be good at saying the right things, holding my shit together, and keeping control.In this place, with these kids, I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do.

The nurse touched my arm lightly, pulling me out of my head. "Come on, we'll head to the playroom. You know, they don't bite, and they are thrilled to see you."

Leo stood and followed her. I kept my steps measured, forcing my body forward. The playroombuzzed with energy I never expected to see in a hospital.

The fluorescent lights weren't soft, and the air wasn't fresh, but the noise—shrieks of laughter, cards slapping against a table, and plastic clatter of building blocks tumbling over—was real in a way that caught me off guard.

Ihovered near the door, arms crossed over my chest, pretending to scan the room like I was taking everything in, but mostlyI was watching Leo. He didn't hesitate. The moment he stepped inside,the room absorbed him like he was a regular visitor.

"Hey, look who it is!" One of the older kids, maybe thirteen, grinned wide from a couch along the wall. His thin arms were full of stuffed animals."Leo Campbell,in the flesh!"

Leo shot finger guns at him. "Heard you needed some competition."

The kid sat up straighter. "Damn right. You play Uno?"

"Please." Leo shrugged off his hoodie and dropped onto the floor, sitting cross-legged like he wasn't six-foot-something and built for speed."Prepare to suffer, kid."

A group of younger kidsflocked to him, abandoning their coloring books and half-finished Lego towers.The entire dynamic of the room shifted, and the sound grew even louder and livelier. I remainednear the wall, merely watching.

I wouldn't say that I was uncomfortable. That wasn't the most accurate word. I didn't know where the hell I fit into the picture.

A kid barely big enough to hold a deck of cardsclimbed onto Leo's lap like he'd known him forever.Another one—a little girl—shoved a stuffed penguin into Leo's arms. "Hold him," she demanded. "He's scared."

Leo cradled the thing with exaggerated care, smoothing a hand over its tiny plush head. "Looks pretty brave to me."

The girl shook her head."He's faking."

Leo nodded solemnly. "That tracks. I fake bravery all the time. It gets me through the tough games."

The girl studied him as if trying to gauge whether or not he was full of shit. "Hockey games?"

Leo grinned. "And scary movies."

The kid in his lap gasped. "You get scared?"

"Of course, I get scared. Have youseen The Ring ?"

A murmur of agreement spread through the group. I wasstuck in place, watching the scene unfold, and completely unprepared for any of it.

I'd seen Leo piss people off. I'd seen him ruthless, cocky, and unrelenting.This?It was something else entirely.

He was good at it.Shockingly good. And itgot to me. My stomach twisted in a knot.

A nurse touched my elbow lightly. "You okay?" I blinked.I wondered whether I'd been standing there too long.

I forced out a breath and shoved my hands back into my pockets."Yeah. Just—"I gestured vaguely toward the scene in front of me.

The nurse smiled knowingly. "Yeah. He's made quite an impact on the kids."

I didn't answer because I wasn't sure what I was feeling and sure as hell didn't know what to say about it.

The kids were still swarming Leo when I stepped out into the hallway, needing a minute to breathe.The air out there was thinner, and it was easier to inhale.

Something inside mewasn't sitting right.

I'd spent weeks figuring out Leo —reading between all the lines and watching how he never backed down from a fight. He didn't let any challenge go unanswered, even if that response was merely a disdainful glance.

The version of Leo I knew didn't hold stuffed penguins for anxious kids.He didn't have a quiet, steady presence that made the room around him feel safer.

A soft voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Leo. That's not your real name, right?"

I turned toward the voice. I didn't realize Leo had left the playroom and was standing at my shoulder.

The kid leaned against the nurses' station.He was maybe ten years old, small, with black hair cropped short from a fresh cut.His hospital socks barely made a sound against the tile as he shifted his weight.He had dark, expectant eyes.

The kid was Asian, and he looked right past me.

Leo's hair was a little messy from the kids grabbing at him.Hefroze for half a second—enough for me to notice.

Tilting his head slightly, he sized the kid up."What makes you say that?"

The kid frowned, suspicious. "'Cause it's not."

I watched Leo flex his fingers and shove them in his jeans pocket. Before the kid could press further, he pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and slid out his driver's license.

"Right there," Leo declared, holding it up for the kid to see. "Leo Campbell. My mom's Japanese, and my dad's white-bread Canadian."

The kid studied the card,lips pressed tight in a skeptical line. I'd seen that look many times on the ice. He wanted to call bullshit, but he couldn't.

"You sure?"

Leo snorted. "Yeah, bud. Pretty damn sure."

The kid considered it, then nodded, granting Leo permission to exist. "Okay," he said, then turned and walked off like the conversation had never happened.

I didn't realize I was still looking at Leo until he turned toward me. He shoved his wallet back into his pocket too quickly. I wanted to ask, and I almost did.

Before I could, the nurse reappeared, telling us we had two more kids to visit before we left.

The last two visits were quieter. The first kid—a boy around eight—was hooked up to more machines than should be legal for someone that small. He was too exhausted to say much, but his mom smiled.

Leo crouched beside the bed, signing the back of a Forge cap the nurses had given him, and said,"I'll see you in the stands next season, yeah?"

The kid's fingers twitched like he wanted to lift them, and his voice was barely audible."Yeah."

The next room had a girl, maybe twelve, wrapped in blankets,with a math textbook open on her lap. Leo leaned over her bedrail, tapping the page with his knuckle."You know, I failed a test once 'cause I didn't believe PEMDAS, that order of operations, was real."

She squinted up at him."You're lying."

"Swear to God," Leo said in a solemn tone. "I still think they made it up just to fuck with us."

She grinned,tugging the blanket up higher. I stood beside the door,watching him do what he did. He let the kids set the pace and let them be in control for once.

When we finally made it back to the lobby, the front desk staff thanked us, and the security guard gave a nod. Finally, it was only the two of us stepping out into the raw cold.

It was late afternoon, and the sky had turned that deep gray before night took over. The hospital's lightshummed against the darkness, buzzing from their fixtures.

I unlocked the Range Rover. Neither of us spoke as we climbed in. While I pulled onto the road, I flexed my fingers against the wheel.

It took me a minute, but eventually, I exhaled."Didn't take you for the type."

Leo shifted in his seat. "Yeah. Well. Another layer of the onion."

I wasn't sure what I expected, but his answerirritated me. I tightened my grip on the wheel, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

Another mile passed in our journey toward downtown and Leo's apartment. The town's lights grew brighter, and the stretch of road narrowed. I wasn't ready to let the conversation go.

"You ever done something like that before?"

Leo didn't answer right away. He shifted, stretching out his arms, working out some unseen tension in his shoulders. When he did speak, his voice was quieter than I expected.

"Yeah, back in Moose Jaw. They had this thing at the public library—Storytime on Saturday mornings."

I glanced at him. "You read books to kids?"

"Yeah, Dane. I can read."

I shook my head, but I didn't push. I wanted him to keep talking.

"I didn't sign up for it or anything." Leo continued his story. "They needed volunteers, and one of the front office suits thought it'd be good for the team. I figured—show up, read some Dr. Seuss, go home."

A beat of silence.

"Was it good?"

He nodded slightly. "Yeah. Some of the kids, they—" He exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the door handle. "It was obvious it was the only time they got that kind of attention all week. No one talked down to them during Storytime, and we let them share if they had a story they needed to tell."

He shrugged, still watching the windshield, but his voice stayedlow and steady."If you start showing up enough times, you realize they don't care if you're some hotshot player. They only want someone to give a shit for an hour."

I swallowed. "Why'd you stop?"

Leo didn't answer immediately. I should have known. The streetlightsthrew broken shadows over his face as he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "The suspension."

I didn't know what to say to that. I kept my hands on the wheel becausewhat the fuck else was there to do?

Leo shifted again, exhaling through his nose. "Anyway. It's not a big deal."

That meant it was, but he wasn't going to let me treat it that way.

The hospital was already far away, but the memories lingered.In my head, I saw those kids looking at Leo while I heard the steady patience in his voice. And now, the thought of him sitting in some public library, reading to a bunch of kids who probably didn't have a lot of people looking out for them? Unforgettable.

I turned onto his street, pulling up in front of his apartment building. It was run-down, with brick chipping at the corners and a neon laundry sign flickering at the end of the block.

Leo reached for the door handle but didn't open it immediately.Neither of us moved.

He didn't look at me, but he cleared his throat. "Anyway. Guess I can addoccasional good guyto my resume."

I almost laughed. Almost. "See you at practice," I muttered.

Leo stepped out into the cold, the wind catching his hoodie as he walked toward the entrance without looking back.

I stayed still, fingers curled tight around the wheel, watching him disappear into the dim glow of the lobby lights.

Before shifting into drive, I glanced toward thepassenger seat. The imprint of Leo's body was still in the leather,and a faint warmth lingered in the space he'd occupied.The scent of his clothing—clean, sharp, with a hint of bargain detergent—hung in the air.

I exhaled, slow and steady, before gripping the wheel tighter. Then, I pulled away.