Page 33 of Gamechanger

Our spy game had started almost by accident, born out of necessity and a shared love of terrible action movies. It wasMoose's idea. We'd been trying to figure out how to keep our relationship under wraps—not out of shame, but out of a desire for privacy in the fishbowl world of professional sports.

"We need a code," Moose had said one night, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back as we lay in bed. "Something that sounds innocent to anyone else, but that we'll understand."

I'd propped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at him. "What, like 'the eagle has landed' or something?"

Moose's eyes had lit up. "Exactly! But more... us. Like, 'the puck has dropped' or 'the sweater is knitted.'"

From there, we expanded it into full-blown spy personas. I became Agent Speedster, the daring field operative always ready for action. Moose was Agent Knitter, the unassuming analyst whose crafty skills were invaluable to the mission.

Our operations were usually just mundane meetups—coffee dates, quick lunches, late-night rendezvous at one of our apartments. But the game added a layer of excitement, a shared secret that was just ours.

More importantly, it gave us a way to communicate in plain sight. "Operation Caffeine Boost" meant grabbing coffee between my practices and Moose's meetings. "Classified Documents Exchange" was code for swapping sweat-soaked jerseys for freshly laundered ones.

It was silly, sure, but it was ours. And it had become a lifeline, a way to stay connected despite our hectic schedules and the need for discretion.

Now, sitting across from Moose in our usual booth, I wished I could use our spy code to decipher what was really going on with him. He was trying to keep something to himself. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes darted to his phone every few seconds.

"So," I said, dropping the spy act. "How's work going? Any exciting new marketing campaigns in the works?"

Moose's hand tightened around his coffee mug. "It's fine. Just busy, you know how it is."

I did know. My life as a professional athlete was demanding. Something in Moose's tone set off alarm bells.

"Hey," I said softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

For a moment, I thought he might open up. His eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of... something. Vulnerability? Fear? But then his phone buzzed, and the moment was gone.

"I know," he said, pulling his hand back to check the message. "It's nothing, really. Just a lot going on right now."

I nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. "Okay. But if you need to debrief with your fellow agent, I'm here. Anytime."

Moose's smile was grateful, if a bit strained. "Thanks, Finn. I mean, Agent Speedster."

As we finished our coffee, making small talk about the team and upcoming games, I couldn't shake the feeling that our little spy game was becoming less of a fun diversion and more of a real cover.

***

The following morning, I arrived at the rink with a mixture of excitement and trepidation churning in my gut. Sergei and Blaise were already there, huddled together near the bench, their breaths creating small clouds in the chilly air.

"Ready for this?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Blaise cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit I'd noticed he had before big games. "Born ready, short stack. Let's show these losers how it's done."

Sergei just nodded, his eyes focused on the ice with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

As the rest of the team filtered onto the ice, I could feel their curious glances. Word had obviously spread about our impromptu strategy session. Coach Fraser was the last to arrive, his face set in its usual scowl as he surveyed the team.

"Alright, listen up," he barked, his voice echoing through the rink. "Novak, Volkov, Johnson - front and center."

We skated over, exchanging quick glances. This was it.

"Now," Fraser continued, his bushy eyebrows drawn together, "you three seem to think you've cooked up some magic formula to turn this team around. I'm giving you exactly ten minutes to prove it's not just a load of hot air. Understood?"

"Yes, Coach," we replied in unison.

"Good. Now get out there and show me what you've got."

As we took our positions, lined up against our defensemen and goalie, I could feel the weight of everyone's stares. Blaise flashed me a cocky grin, but I saw the nervousness in his eyes. Sergei remained stoic.

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