Page 70 of The Players We Hate
I slipped into the side tunnel, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I followed the narrow corridor toward the team locker room. Kade’s bag would be there. He always left it in the same spot before games, too superstitious to let it out of his sight until the final horn.
Sure enough, it sat on the bottom row, the strap twisted, and the zipper half-open like it had been dropped in a rush.
I crouched, pushing past a pair of tape rolls and his backup gloves. My fingers closed around his keys.
The Wolves logo dangled from the lanyard, frayed and worn from use.
My chest pulled tight. I didn’t want to do this. Not to him.
But he was getting too close to a fire he didn’t understand. And if I didn’t steer him off, he was going to get burned.
I slid my coat tighter around me and pulled the note and the puck from the inside pocket, holding them like contraband.
I slipped out the back exit, the cold hitting me as soon as I stepped outside. The parking lot was quiet, lit by a few harsh overhead lights. Wind cut across the asphalt and pushed hair into my face as I crossed the dark stretch.
Kade’s truck sat crooked at the edge of the lot, angled into the curb the way he always parked.
I fumbled with the keys, fingers stiff from the cold, and unlocked the passenger door. The cab light flicked on, exposing the mess inside. A hoodie was crumpled across the seat, a protein bar wrapper stuffed in the console, and a half-full water bottle rolled across the floorboard.
I leaned over and opened the glove box. It dropped open with a soft click, spilling out game sheets, spare mouth guards, and a folded maintenance report from the arena staff. Tucked between the papers was his notebook. The same one he had mentioned to Talon, the one he used to track every detail.
I snapped a few quick photos of the pages before shoving them inside again. I reached for the puck, along with the note I wrote from my pocket. The words I had written earlier stared back at me.
KEEP PLAYING. STAY QUIET.
I hesitated only a second before setting it on the cupholder. Obviously enough that he’d see it but not out of place, before locking the truck and jogging toward the building.
By the time I slipped in through the entrance, the buzzer was blaring, signaling the start of the second period. I moved quickly to shed my coat and stepped into the arena as if nothing had happened.
I leaned against the tunnel wall, clipboard pressed tight to my chest, forcing my face to stay composed even though my pulse was still racing. As if I hadn’t just planted a pucking note in the truck of a player on one of the most-watched college hockey teams in the state.
I pressed my lips together and kept my eyes on the ice.
The Wolves were flying, fast and relentless. Rowdy moved across the crease in a blur while Talon and Kade held their lanes with the kind of precision that came from hours of practice. Even from where I stood, I could see the tightness in their movements, the way they stayed on edge, eyes constantly searching and calculating every play.
As I watched from the stands, I couldn’t help wondering if Kade would find it tonight. I had no way of knowing how he might react when he did. All I could hope was that he would understand what I was trying to say without me spelling it out. Silence felt safer. I couldn’t explain what I was doing, and asking them to trust me was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.
By the time I stepped into my dorm after the game, my lungs ached from the cold, my thoughts rattling too loud in my head. I didn’t bother with the light. I stood in the middle of the room, the quiet pressing down on me, heavy and unshakable.
Everything hurt. Not from the walk or the nerves or the constant clench of my jaw. It was deeper than that, in a place I didn’t have a name for. My body felt like it had beenwired for fight-or-flight all day, and now that I was out of the arena, I couldn’t figure out how to shut it off.
I dropped my bag by the door, the soft thud louder than it should’ve been in the space. My coat was still damp from the snow, my hair sticking to my neck. I peeled the layers away one by one, slow and careful, like moving too fast might undo me.
All I wanted was a shower and my bed. Maybe one hour when I didn’t have to think.
Of course, that wasn’t in the cards.
Alisa was stretched out on her bed, the glow of the TV lighting up the room when I stepped out of the bathroom. She muted the volume and pushed herself up on one elbow, a knowing smirk already on her face. She’d been waiting for me.
“Don’t say it,” I muttered as I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.
Her smirk widened. “Say what?”
“I’m tired. I’ve had a long day. I just need—”
“You need to stop acting like you’re background in somebody else’s movie,” she cut in. “You’ve been in serious mode for weeks, and honestly, I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” I said, taking a sip.
