Page 6 of Cold Comeback
Gideon—Do Not Annoy:Be on time
I sent back a skull emoji because I didn't know the local language yet, but that felt close.
I put the phone face down and told my heart to settle. It didn't listen. Hearts don't, when there's ice in the morning and a captain who looks at you like you might be salvageable.
I slept with my skates in the corner and three alarms ready to prove it.
Chapter two
Gideon
Iliked the rink best before anyone else showed up.
No chirps. No bad playlists. Only the hum of lights warming up and the faint bite of detergent before twenty guys replaced it with sweat and coffee breath.
For ten minutes, hockey was simple: tape the stick, lace the skates, keep the noise out.
I'd barely finished my first strip of tape when the door creaked and Thatcher Drake stepped in. 8:12 AM. Hoodie up. Hair damp. Eyes clear. He'd actually slept instead of doomscrolling his name.
He paused, glancing around the room, then lifted both hands like he was surrendering. "Phone's in the cubby."
"Good." I pressed the tape down and cut it clean with a thumbnail.
Thatcher slid into the stall beside Linc's and unpacked his gear. Everything came out folded. No scatter. No mess. He pinched his laces and started the rabbit-ear knot I'd used since juniors. I'd expected chaos to clatter in with him. Instead, I got… order.
Huh.
"Morning," he said without looking up.
"Helmet fit?"
"Like a glove." He grinned. "Three alarms worked, too. You proud?"
"I'll be proud when you win a puck battle."
"Ruthless." He bent back to his laces, but the corner of his mouth didn't stop trying to be trouble.
The quiet died fast. Linc came in humming off-key. Pluto showed up with a paper bag that gave up under its own grease and dumped three bagels on the floor.
"Man down," Pluto groaned, dropping to his knees.
Thatcher slid off his bench without hesitation, scooped up two bagels, and hot-potatoed them back into Pluto's hands. "Five-second rule."
I muttered, "Five-second rule is not a rule."
"It is in the minors," Linc said. "And last night's leftover nachos are breakfast if you believe in yourself."
"Nachos are a lifestyle," Pluto said, reverent. "Also versatile. Also… wow, that is a lot of cream cheese."
"Try eating it before it eats you," Knox muttered as he stomped in, with each step, he complained about the floor, the weather, and the concept of mornings.
Wren poked her head in. "Systems in five. If you bring coffee, bring me one."
"Budget cuts," Pluto said, and every eye rolled in Wren's general direction.
The video room's fluorescent glare made every moment look like an interrogation. Coach cued up clips from last season: our worst habits filling a twenty-foot-wide screen.
A blown coverage in the slot. A two-goal lead gift-wrapped and mailed to Norfolk. Me on the PK, stick two inches too high, andthere went the seam pass. I hate film when I'm the problem; I love it, too, because it means I can fix it.
