Page 32 of The Pucking Date
When I finally skate to the bench, Dmitri’s leaning against the boards, smirking like he knows exactly what’s coming.
“Taking a victory lap, O’Reilly?” he drawls in that rolling Russian accent. “Or avoiding the locker room?”
I shrug, popping my helmet off and running a handthrough my damp hair. “Figured I’d give you old men a head start.”
He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder as we head toward the tunnel. The second I push through the locker room doors, the chirping starts.
“Look who finally decided to join us!” Adam calls out, grinning as he tosses a roll of tape across the room. “Thought you were skating straight to Raleigh.”
“Or Dallas,” Wesley pipes up from his stall, bright-eyed and too damn eager for someone who hasn’t learned when to shut up. “I heard they’ve got a jersey waiting with your name on it.”
I catch the tape mid-air and toss it back without missing a beat. “Disappointed you won’t get to film my farewell TikTok, rookie?”
Wes flushes but grins, unbothered. Kid’s got spirit, I’ll give him that.
“Just saying,” Adam adds, peeling off his pads, “if you’re planning to abandon us for barbecue and cowboy hats, a little notice would be nice.”
I chuckle, stripping off my gear. “Relax. If I wanted bad beer and Southern drawls, I’d visit my parents more often.”
That earns a few laughs, but it’s the kind that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. Because we all know the truth behind the jokes; I’m one foot out the door, and everyone in this room can feel it. The weight of uncertainty hangs over us like a storm cloud, unspoken but suffocating.
Across the room, Nate grunts as he yanks off his goalie mask, dark eyes flicking my way with something that looks like betrayal.
“Hope she’s worth it,” he mutters, barely loud enough to carry but sharp enough to land.
The room stills for a moment. I arch a brow, grabbing a towel. “Who says there’s a girl involved?”
Nate shrugs, already focused on unlacing his skates like he didn’t just lob a grenade into the silence.
“Please,” Wesley jumps in, filling the air like he always does. “The way you’re looking at Novak? I’m surprised Coach doesn’t throw you through the glass.”
That cracks the tension. Laughter—relieved, a little too loud, the kind that saysthank God someone else said it.
I lean back in my stall, smirking. “If Coach wants to fight me over a look, he knows where to find me.”
Adam walks past, taps the back of my head with his water bottle. Light. Not friendly. My reflexes kick in; I grab the bottle midair, just long enough to remind him I don’t flinch. Then I calmly set it on the bench beside me.
He leans in. “You keep looking at my sister like that, and we’re gonna have a problem.”
I meet his eyes. “Noted.”
Then I hear Liam behind me. “Don’t give him a reason, Finn.”
Adam snorts. “Look who’s talking,” he mutters, turning toward him. “Funny, coming from the guy who used to sneak around with myothersister.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, every time I blink, there’s another player sniffing around a Novak girl. It’s exhausting.”
Liam doesn’t rise to it. He calmly adjusts his glove like he’s heard it all before.
Nate lets out a low whistle. “Jesus. Are we really doing this again?”
Dmitri grunts. “Next time, I bring popcorn. Maybe vodka too.”
Wesley grins. “Cool. I’ll bring a Kevlar vest. Between Adam and Coach, O’Reilly’s gonna need it.”
That lands. A few groans, a couple laughs. Somebody mutters, “facts.” A towel smacks Wes in the chest. The conversation shifts after that, back to preseason bets, rookie mistakes, and who’s buying the first round once camp officially starts. But under it all, I can feel it, that undercurrent of uncertainty.
They won’t say it. Hell, I wouldn’t either. But they’re worried. Not only about losing a teammate. About losingme. And yeah, part of me wants to ease their minds. Tell them I’m not going anywhere. That loyalty still means something.
But I can’t. Because loyalty doesn’t pay when management’s too scared to put pen to paper. And I’m not about to sell myself short only to stay where I’m wanted conditionally.
