Page 26 of Trick Shot

The locker room’s loud. Wet towels hit tile, jokes fly, and empty water bottles clatter to the floor.

I’m toweling off, jersey peeled halfway down my torso, when I see Zed stepping out of the showers.

Steam trails behind him, water dripping down his tattooed torso that looks like it could stop traffic and punch through brick. And yes, the tattoos definitely disappear beneath that towel. The fucker even walks intimidating.

He grabs his locker door, yanks it open, and starts dressing like the rest of us don’t exist. Like he’s never had a reason to talk and doesn’t want one.

I shake my head, leaning over to Dominic.

“Alright, Captain,” I say, voice pitched just enough to make a scene. “You gotta be honest with me.”

“About?” Dom doesn’t even glance up.

“I know you said you and Zed used to be friends back in the day, but are we sure he wasn’t created in a lab somewhere in D.C.?” I point toward the man-mountain behind us to the right.

“You’re obsessed with him.” Dom snorts.

“Not obsessed. Concerned. I just think the league should know if we’re harboring a one-man apocalypse.”

Dom leans back, finally looking at me with a crooked grin. One strand of hair falls over his brow like it always does, and for half a second, he looks less like an NHL captain and more like he’s modeling Calvin Klein underwear.

“You sound like you’re in love with him.” Dom barks a laugh. But then his smile fades just a little.

“You know,” he says, quieter now, “he wasn’t always like this.” He pauses, pulling his sock straight. “Back when we played juniors together—like fifteen, sixteen—he was different. Always smiling, always too loud. Fucking hilarious, actually. You couldn’t shut him up.”

I blink at him. Hard to imagine that man cracking a single joke without it sounding like a murder threat.

“We used to room together,” Dom goes on, voice lower, more thoughtful. “He’d pull pranks, hide everyone’s gear, eat half the protein bars and blame the goalie coach. Everyone loved him, especially the girls.”

“Okay, that part I believe,” I nod, leaning against the locker.

“But now…” Dom shakes his head, like he’s still trying to make sense of it. “This isn’t the same guy I remember.”

“What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s something that flipped a switch.”

I look back at Zed slamming his locker shut. He’s dressed now—black hoodie on, dark hair still damp from the shower. His light eyes sweep the room beneath thick eyebrows, and his expression is the same as always. It’s cold, borderline vacant.

And for the first time, I stop seeing him as a silent tank and start seeing something else entirely. Something tightly sealed. Like if you cracked him open, the shit inside wouldn’t be blood—it’d be glass shards and gasoline.

Yeah. Something definitely happened to that guy.

The night is warm, the crickets are buzzing from outside the glass doors, and the lights from the pool flicker over the patio, covering everything in lazy gold and blue.

Dom’s on the phone, talking with Coach about the headcount for Ozona. His voice drifts faintly, but I’m barely listening. I’m leaned back on the couch, phone in hand, beer balanced on my thigh.

Group chat’s going off with players excited about the trip, half of them already suggesting who’s bringing what liquor and who’s in charge of making sure Nate doesn’t forget underwear again.

Dom walks up to me, chuckling.

“Group chat’s on fire. You might’ve actually done something useful for once.”

I give him the finger and turn my attention back to the one thing I’ve been focused on all night.

She’s out there, sitting alone on the patio. Her legs tucked up, glass of cold water sweating beside her phone on the table. She’s reading, the soft book light reflecting off her cheekbones. Her curls are pulled up, and my gut is fucking screaming. It’s been a couple of days of watching her. And every goddamn time she speaks, looks at me, tilts her head in a challenge—it’s like déjà vu. That attitude, the rhythm of her sentences, the way she bites back. It all reminds me of Bunny.

Unless I’ve actually lost my mind and started projecting my wet dreams onto Dom’s baby sister.