Page 55 of Cold Comeback
Wren's tone turned gentle. "They look up to you, all of them. They feel it when you disappear into whatever's going on in your head. They think they did something wrong. They think you've given up on them."
"I haven't given up on them."
"Then prove it. I don't want to watch you wreck yourself. You need to start by not giving up on yourself."
She left me there with her observation echoing off the walls.
When I returned to my apartment at the team house, I watched film from the game, but seeing my misjudged plays in slow motion only made everything worse. I tried reading, but the words swam on the page.
At 2 AM, I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when the breaking point finally arrived.
I'd failed my team, as their captain, their leader on the ice. All because I was too scared to admit what everyone could already see—that I was falling for Thatcher Drake, and not knowing how to handle it was tearing me apart.
My phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark, waiting.
I picked it up, opened our message thread, and stared at the blank text box. I typed and deleted a dozen messages. Apologies. Explanations. Excuses.
Finally, before I could stop myself again, I typed four words:
Gideon:wish you were here
I hit send before retreating into the safe, controlled distance I'd maintained.
The response came back almost instantly, like he'd been waiting.
Thatcher:I'm just down the hall
I stared at those words until they blurred. He was in the same house as me, maybe twenty steps away—close enough to touch, if I was brave enough to reach out.
Suddenly, I felt something other than fear.
I felt hope.
Chapter thirteen
Thatcher
The team bus rolled toward Norfolk through late afternoon light, but our usual road trip energy was muted. Guys dozed against windows or scrolled through phones. Even Pluto's legendary pre-game chatter had died down to murmurs about line combinations and whether the hotel would have decent coffee.
The driver's radio crackled, and Grimmy's voice burst through, loud enough to make half the team jump: "Don't touch my skull!"
A ripple of laughter moved through the rows, then faded just as quickly. The quiet that followed felt heavier. Even Grimmy couldn't keep the mood afloat this time.
I sat three rows back from the coaching staff, watching Gideon's profile when he turned to answer Coach's questions. He was worn thin—dark circles under his eyes and tension in his shoulders. But something had shifted since that collapse in Norfolk. He wasn't battling himself anymore—only carrying the wreckage on his shoulders.
"Room assignments." Wren appeared in the aisle with her clipboard. "Sawyer, Drake—412. Leadership continuity."
About as subtle as a bench-clearing brawl. Half the team turned to stare. Knox caught my eye and gave me the slightest nod, like he wanted to say, "About time."
"Leadership continuity?" Linc whispered. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Pluto elbowed him. "Shut up."
The bus quieted again, with the steady sound of rubber on the road filling the silence. Then, from the back, Bricks started humming. Low, rough-edged, but recognizable.
"Shenandoah."
My grandmother sang it while she cooked, her voice softer but no less steady. I could almost smell the cornbread she always had in the oven and hear the wooden spoon tapping the side of a mixing bowl. I hadn't thought about it in years, and now here it was, spilling through a dimly lit team bus headed toward Norfolk.
