Page 9

Chapter 9

RYLAN

T he same playlist I've used for more than ten years pulses through my headphones as I tape my stick with methodical precision. The ritual settles my nerves and brings focus to the chaos both in my mind and in the locker room.

Pirelli, on the other hand, isn't quite so precise. His tape job is quick, almost careless. He's bobbing his head to whatever's playing through his AirPods,occasionallysinging along under his breath. His energy radiates outward, infectious enough that even Austin cracks a smile.

"Okay, boys, you know the plan,"Coach Shaw announces, striding through the room."Keep it simple. Remember what we worked on. This might be preseason, but it's important. Stick to our game."

I tie my skates, left first, then right, like always. Jamie's already suited up, his helmet dangling from one hand as he chats with Charlie.

"Five minutes," Coach calls out.

Jamie catches my eye as I stand. His smile is easy and confident."Ready, Cap?"

I nod, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my stomach flips at his casual use of the nickname.

The familiar sounds fill the tunnel as we make our way out. Skates on rubber mats, stick taps, the low murmur of the crowd filtering through. Jamie falls into step beside me, and his presence is both unsettling and grounding at the same time.

Focus, Collings . I force my mind back to the game.

When the puck drops, I win the face-off cleanly, sliding it back to Austin. The familiar rush of adrenaline hits my bloodstream.

Jamie streaks up the right wing, his speed creating space. I cut through the neutral zone, and Austin's pass hits my tapeperfectly.

Two quick strides. Jamie breaks behind their defense. My stick islike an extension of my body as I pass to him.

The puck settles on Jamie's stick like it belongs there. One lightning quick move and he buries it top shelf.

Fifteen seconds in.

Jamie's smile blazes as he crashes into me, our teammates piling on. His joy is contagious. For a moment, I'm fifteen again, celebrating with Nick after a perfect give-and-go just like that one.

We build momentum off that first shift. Jamie anticipates my passes before I make them. I find him in spaces that shouldn't exist. It's effortless, instinctive—like we've played together for years.

We connect again. This time I drive wide, drawing the defense. Jamie loops high, patient. I feel him without looking, just like I used to sense Nick. My backhand pass finds himeasily.

Another goal. Another celebration.

The bench is buzzing. Even Austin's usual scowl softens when Jamie sets him up for a one-timer that makes it 3-0 before the first period is over.

"Holy shit, Cap,"Charlie pants during a line change."You and Pirelli are fucking magic out there."

He's right. Jamie reads the game at my speed, and he sees the plays develop the way I do. The way Nick did.

For some reason, the memory of playing with my brother doesn't hurt like itusuallydoes. Instead, it fuels something warm in my chest as Jamie and I connect for another scoring chance. Nick would have loved this—the pure joy of hockey played at its highest level.

For the first time in years, I'm not playing the system. I'm playing the game.

Unfortunately, the magic doesn't last. Their defense tightens up, collapsing around Jamie and me whenever we cross the blue line. What worked in the first period turns into turnovers and odd-man rushes the other way, and by the end of the second period, the San Diego Destroyers have tied it up at 3.

The third period starts with a mess. A bad line change leads to their go-ahead goal, and we're behind for the first time all night at 4-3.

Our frustration mounts with each missed opportunity. Pirelli and I are still connecting, but the finishing touch has disappeared. We're all trying to recapture that first-period magic instead of playing smart.

By halfway through the third, Coach has managed to settle us down a bit. Jamie creates chance after chance as we push hard for the tying goal.

With two minutes left, Coach Shaw pulls Louis for an extra attacker, so we're six-on-five.

But their goalie stands on his head, knocking away everything we throw at him, and the final buzzer sounds with the final score of 4-3, Destroyers.

It's like a punch to the gut. A preseason loss shouldn't hurt this much, but the disappointment on my teammates' faces cuts deep. We had this game, and we let it slip away.

Motherfucker.

JAMIE

The locker room reeks of defeat and frustration as we file in. My gear's soaked through with sweat, and the weight of our 4-3 loss hangs heavy. My first game with the Sasquatch, and we couldn't hold onto a three-goal lead.

Rylan's already at his stall,methodicallyunlacing his skates. His phone sits on the bench beside him, and he keeps glancing at it. His jaw tightens each time it buzzes, which it's doing a lot.

Riley appears in the doorway, a sympathetic grimace on her face."Sorry guys, but the media's waiting."First loss of preseason, new players, new coach—they'reprobablycircling like sharks.

Before Rylan can look up from his phone, which has just buzzed yet again, Lou jumps to his feet."I got this one."His voice carries that same easy tone he uses for everything. It's like he's volunteering to grab coffee instead of facing down a room full of reporters after a brutal loss.

Louis catches Rylan's eye for a second. Most people would miss it, but I'm watching. There's a whole conversation in that moment: Louis offering cover, Rylan's silent thanks.

Austin's moving too, his broad shoulders creating a wall between the media entrance and Rylan's stall. It's subtle but deliberate. He positions himself like he's organizing his gear, but the angle's perfect to block any ambitious reporter trying to sneak a photo or catch Rylan's attention.

"C'mon, rookie,"Louis calls out to Tanner."Time to learn the fun part of the job."He throws an arm around our backup goalie's shoulders, steering him toward the door with that infectious grin.

The defeated silence continues after Louis leads Tanner out. Charlie's the first to break it, tossing his sweaty jersey into the laundry bin with theatrical flair.

"Well, that was a bit shit. Who wants to cheer up with late-night poutine? I found this place that uses real Quebec cheese curds."

A few weak chuckles ripple through the room. Charlie's got a gift for diffusing tension. Maybe it's because he's British. Everything sounds better with that accent.

Rylan's phone buzzes yet again. He snatches it up, shoulders tensing as he reads whatever's on the screen. The phone disappears into his pocket, but his hand stays there, gripping it like it might explode.

I want to ask if he's okay, but I don't want to push too hard. Besides, Austin's still hovering nearby, radiating protective energy like a guard dog.

Through the open door, Louis's voice carries from the media room, smooth and practiced:"Yeah,obviouslynot the result we wanted, but it's preseason. We have time to work out the kinks and build chemistry with the new guys. That's what these games are for."

Charlie tries again:"Seriouslythough, this poutine place. Open till 2 AM."

Rylan's phone buzzes again. This time he doesn't bother to check it, just closes his eyes for a moment, the muscle in his jaw working overtime. When he opens them, they meet minebrieflybefore darting away.

My fingers itch to grab that phone, to see what's got him so wound up. But that's not my place.

Louis's voice floats in again:"Yeah, Pirelli and Collings showed some great chemistry. That's something we can build on."

The roomgraduallyempties as the guys finish changing. Louis returns from media duty, giving Tanner an encouraging pat on the back before heading to his stall. Through it all, Rylan hasn't moved, still sitting on the benchin his base layers.

I take my time arranging my gear since the bus won't leave for another twenty minutes. Rylan'susuallythe first one packed and ready, but tonight he'sbarelystarted undressing.

When his phone buzzes again, something shifts in his expression. A crack in that perfect control. His fingers trembleslightlyas he pulls it from his pocket, and this time what he reads makes him inhalesharply.

I take a step toward him, concern overriding my hesitation. But Louis catches my eye, giving the smallest shake of his head.

Austin materializes between us, all business as he starts discussing tomorrow's travel schedule, his body blocks my view of Rylan. His voice iscarefullysteady. It's almost like he's trying to ground Rylan in the present moment.

Charlie appears at my elbow."So, poutine?"

"Yeah, maybe,"I saydistractedly. I can't stop watching Rylan's reflection in the mirror across the room. His shoulders are hunched, and his movements have lost their usual precision as hefinallystarts removing his gear.

Louis brushes past me, bumping my shoulder hard enough to get my attention. When I look at him, he tilts his head toward the door. A clear message: Give him space.

Right. Space. Even though every instinct screams to do the opposite. To push past Austin's wall of protection. To find out what's wrong. To take care of him…

Charlie tugs my arm."Come on, Pirelli. Bus is waiting."