Page 37 of Puck Your Feelings

He looks up, and our eyes meet for half a second before both of us look away like we've been flashbanged.

"Cool. Thanks. Yep."

He grabs his stuff—a chaotic pile of products that he just scoops into his arms like a goddamn barbarian—and disappears into the bathroom.

I stand there in my towel, water dripping down my back, and wonder if it's possible to die of embarrassment. Like, actual physical death. Because right now, that sounds preferable to the next three weeks.

My phone buzzes.

Dad: Call me.

I delete the message without responding and get dressed with mechanical precision: underwear, compression shorts, athletic pants, t-shirt, hoodie. Everything in the right order, every movement controlled.

Control. That's what I need. Control over my body, my reactions, my fucking libido that decided last night was a great time to make an appearance.

The shower's still running when my last alarm goes off. I silence it and sit on the bottom bunk, waiting.

And waiting.

Becker's shower takes twenty-five minutes. I know because I'm watching the clock on my phone like it's going to give me answers.

When he finally emerges, he's fully dressed, his hair still damp and sticking up in seventeen different directions. He won't look at me. Just grabs his bag, his phone, his water bottle.

"Practice in thirty," he says to the wall.

"I know."

"Right. Yeah. You know. Because you're—" He gestures vaguely at me. "Organized."

"Beck—"

"Gotta go. Need to, uh, tape my stick. Very important stick-taping business that requires immediate attention."

He's out the door before I can finish his name.

I sit there alone in Cabin 12, surrounded by the evidence of our cohabitation—his chaos, my order, the space we've been sharing for five days that suddenly feels like a minefield.

My phone buzzes again. The wolves.

Wall:Morning sunshines!

Petrov:Is too early for human body. Should still be sleeping.

Becker:Already at rink. Got here early. Very dedicated to hockey. Love hockey. Hockey is life.

Wall:You okay, Beck?

Becker:Why wouldn't I be okay? I'm great. So great. Hockey’s great.

Groover:That's not concerning at all.

I throw my phone into my bag and wonder if beer league in Alaska is hiring.

***

Becker

FIVE PM, AND Kane's still not back at the cabin, which is both a relief and deeply concerning for my mental health.