Page 41 of Finders Keepers
Apparently waiting for him.
Nate went instantly alert. He sucked in a breath and straightened. “Kincaid,” he said on the exhale.
Kincaid pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on and slid his phone into his pocket. “Got a few minutes?”
Much as he wanted to get home, Nate didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, sure.” This was his captain, and the man had something to say. Nate really did want to fit in, especially after receiving his marching orders from management. Now he needed to know where the captain stood.
“You look like you could use a drink. Meeting with the suits tend to do that. Let’s hit the eighth-floor café. My treat.” The captain’s tone was friendly but pointed. There was no begging off.
* * * * *
Nate followed him into the elevator, adrenaline starting to fade but nerves still jangling. They rode in silence, allowing Nate to brood. Probably by design.
The café was open and modern, sparsely populated, with sunlight pouring in through large windows. Hanging plants lined the ceiling, and the scent of espresso hovered in the air. They grabbed drinks—protein smoothie for Kincaid, black iced tea for Nate—and found a spot near the edge of the rooftop garden view.
“Any relation to the team receptionist?” Nate asked, curiosity and nerves getting the better of him.
“My much better half,” Kincaid said with a fond smile. He leaned back. “So. That meeting.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Word travels that fast?”
“In this organization? Yeah. You get called into the principal’s office and everyone’s placing bets—discipline or damage control.”
“Not damage control.”
“Hmm.” Kincaid raised a brow and took a sip of his avocado-based smoothie. “I mean, youdidjack Tommy up against his locker.”
“Not my finest moment,” Nate acknowledged with a dip of his chin.
“Nobody’s losing sleep over it.”
Nate let out a breath that was half a laugh. “You always this subtle?”
Kincaid smirked. “Thatwasme being subtle.”
“Gotcha.”
Holy hell—what was this team he’d landed on?
Top notch facilities. The practice rink, the game rink—all elite. But this café, this captain? They were…unexpected.
He looked around the café—larger-than-usual seating. A space clearly designed for hockey players. The upper half of the walls were a creamy white and separated from the sage green lower half by a wide apricot stripe. Outside, umbrellas shaded the rooftop tables while planters filled with flowers and trailing greenery lined the parapet wall. Decorative fans stood ready to stir the air if needed.
And Kincaid— Griffin Kincaid had been a Locomotive since his rookie year and had worn the C by his third. A lifer. The kind of player people called a franchise cornerstone. On the ice, he was a freight train with a mean streak and a slap shot like a cannon. Off the ice? Nate wasn’t sure.
But this version—the one nursing a smoothie and giving him space to settle—wasn’t what he’d braced for.
“As captain, subtlety is a survival skill.” Kincaid tipped his chair back on two legs. “I don’t know what all got said up there,and I don’t need to. But I do know what kind of shit Tommy runs his mouth about. So thanks for not letting it slide.”
That took Nate by surprise. “You’re not mad I went after him?”
“I’m not thrilled you attacked a teammate, but I get why.” He slurped again. “Honestly? You earned a lot of silent respect. The room’s been needing a spark. You might be it.”
Nate stared at his tea. “I didn’t come here to be a spark.”
“Yeah, well. You didn’t come here, did you? You were traded and not by choice.”
Anger sparked in Nate’s gut and just as quickly fizzled. He understood why too few players spoke out. Doing so tended to get you labeled, and unless you had a legit reason for calling that shit out, you kept your mouth shut.
