Page 5 of Cold Comeback
He studied me for a beat. "We'll see."
I watched him walk away, shoulders straight, stride relaxed. I imagined what it would feel like to skate behind him on a penalty kill, his body between me and a slapshot, trusting he'd take it if I missed.
"Drake!" Linc popped up beside me with a towel over his head. "Lunch mission, or are we standing here having feelings about Captain America?"
"I'm not—"
"Cool. We're trying a new spot. Wings, fries, and salad if you're trying to impress the trainers. Pluto's got a coupon."
"I always have a coupon." Pluto appeared on my other side. "Savings are a spiritual practice."
We hit the parking lot, the three of us. The sun was higher and the heat more intense. Jet was out by the doors, skull tucked under his arm, smoking a vape, and looking like a reaper off shift.
"You live close?" Linc asked.
"Hotel for now."
Pluto had a suggestion. "We'll fix that. Team house has a room. Cursed, but like, constructively cursed."
"What's a fun curse?"
"You'll see." He opened the back door of a beat-up Corolla and shoved in a pile of shin guards. "You riding?"
I hesitated, phone warm in my pocket like a small dog begging to be petted. Wren's rules tapped the back of my head. Gideon's eyes did, too.
"Yeah, I'm riding."
We rolled to lunch with the windows down and the radio too loud. Pluto told a tale about a possum in the equipment bin. Linc demonstrated how not to tape a stick. I answered texts from numbers I didn't know with thumbs-up emojis and sent my agent a single line:
TDrake:I'm in
By the time the fries hit the table, I'd sweated out the last of the airport and half of my panic.
Back at the hotel, later, I fell onto the bed without turning on a light and stared at the ceiling. The AC clattered on with a cough. Somewhere above me, someone thumped the floor. I thumbed through my timeline, ignored the comments, and liked a photo of a kid in a too-big Reapers jersey holding a foam stick. My name trended undersportsand not underdisaster.Progress.
A text came in from an unknown number:
Unknown:9:00—don't be late
No signature. It had big jawline energy.
I saved the number asGideon—Do Not Annoyand typed back:
TDrake:I'm setting two alarms. Three if it makes you sleep better
Dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Gideon—Do Not Annoy:It would
I stared at that for a second, then set three alarms. Apparently, I was now the kind of man who listened when the captain told me to do something.
I wasn't in Richmond to be cute or trend. I'd keep my hands quiet. I'd move the puck. I'd earn it.
My phone buzzed again—this time a link to the team's private group chat.BONE YARDlit up with a flood of GIFs of grim reapers doing dumb dances and a single message from Linc:
Linc:if u die of nerves we're not refunding your deposit
Pluto:linc thinks clif bars count as dinner. this is why we can't have nice things
