Page 62 of Well That Happened

Caleb grins. “Nah. Just trying to keep up with Hunter.”

“Hunter was off tonight,” Luke fires back, shooting me a look. “What’s up with that, man? You’re usually the guy skating like he’s got a rocket in his ass.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

“You’re growlier than usual,” Luke pushes, clearly not reading the room. “You need to get laid or something? Get the rage out?”

My jaw tightens.

Grayson raises one brow, just slightly.

“I said I’m fine,” I repeat.

Luke holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. Damn.”

Caleb shifts beside me. “She said she had to get up early?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about Rilee.

“Yeah,” I say. “Early shift. Hospital stuff.”

Caleb nods, takes a drink.

He doesn’t say more.

Doesn’t have to.

The air shifts, just a little.

Grayson finally speaks, low and quiet. “We gonna pretend we don’t know what this is about?”

I glare at him. “Drop it.”

He shrugs. “Cool.”

But the message is clear.

They all know.

They don’t knowwhat, exactly—but they know something’s broken.

And it’s probably me.

I drain the rest of my beer in one long gulp, but it doesn’t help.

The noise, the heat, the pretending like I’m just another college guy who loves hockey—it’s bullshit.

Because I know what’s waiting for me if I fuck this up. Firsthand.

One year. That’s how long my dad lasted in the NHL. He was some hockey prodigy growing up—just like me.

And all he got was one rookie season. Ten games. A concussion. And a “thanks for coming out” before they dumped him back into real life.

Now he sells life insurance to people who think bad luck can be managed with paperwork. Drives the same truck he’s had since 2003. He tells me if I just “push harder,” I won’t end up where he did.

No pressure or anything.

Just the constant reminder thatalmost making itis worse than never trying at all.

---