I should’ve known something was off. Not just with the silence—James going dark for more than a day was unusual, sure, but not unheard of. He got distracted easily, and I figured maybe he’d landed, got caught up with friends or family, or just crashed hard from the trip. He wasn’t exactly the “check-in” type when he was on the move. But the locker room had been weird. It wasn’t just the awkward energy from earlier—when that guy asked about Andrew and I shut him down before he could finish whatever smug little thought he was building. There was something else. Something under the surface. A tension in the way guys moved. The way conversations cut off when I walked by. Even Coach had barely looked me in the eye when he gave instructions today. I chalked it up to nerves. Or jealousy. Or maybe people finally catching on to the fact that I was spending too much time with a freshman I used to hate and now... didn’t. Me being openly soft toward someone I’d once treated like a ghost in th
I was halfway through peeling off my damp shoulder pads when Coach called out my name."Captain. My office."Great.I rolled my eyes and muttered something under my breath. Probably looked like I’d murdered someone with how fast I tossed my gear into my locker and trudged off toward the tiny glassed-in room at the far end of the rink. My socks squelched with each step. The cold air from the rink followed me in like it had something to say too.Coach had already settled behind his desk by the time I stepped in. He didn’t look up at first—just scribbled something onto a clipboard. His desk was a mess, as always. Papers, two half-full coffee cups, a cracked phone screen, a protein bar that looked like it had been through war, and a whistle that never left his neck.“Close the door,” he said without looking.I did.He finally glanced up, then gestured to the chair across from him.“You skate like you’re being hunted,” he said.“That a compliment?”“No,” he let out flatly. “It’s a warning.
The locker room felt a little colder without James.Not temperature-wise—just… empty.Quiet in a weird way.Normally, I’d find him already half-dressed, chirping about someone’s hair, or groaning dramatically about some sore muscle like he wasn’t twenty and invincible.But this morning, the bench beside mine was bare. His duffel bag wasn’t dumped on the floor like usual. No hoodie tossed over the hooks. No signs of James at all.I sat down anyway, like muscle memory had guided me to my usual spot. Reached into my bag and started pulling out gear, trying not to think about how off it all felt.He was probably already at the airport.Chicago.I probably should’ve called. Told him to travel safe. Asked if he packed enough socks or made sure his AirPods were charged. Something stupid and brotherly like that.I sighed and shoved one leg into my compression shorts.I grabbed my phone from my duffel and stared at the screen. No new texts. No missed calls. I hesitated, thumb hovering over his
CAPTAIN ~Andrew tossed me the keys before I could even open my mouth to protest. They jingled as they hit my chest and bounced into my lap, as if they'd already made the decision for me. “You’re driving,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat with a groan so theatrical I would’ve laughed if my own body didn’t ache in sympathy. “My back’s killing me. My thighs too. This is your fault, by the way.” I raised an eyebrow, slowly picking up the keys. “My fault?” He gave me a pointed look, like he was daring me to deny it. I looked away with a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. I didn’t have a comeback… not one I could say out loud without reliving every second of what happened after the bar. The way he grabbed my shirt. The way our mouths crashed together. So yeah, fine. Maybe it was my fault. I climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it way back because Andrew apparently drove like a grandma. He didn’t even argue this time, just folded his arms and leaned his head agai
The second Captain rolled out of bed to go shower, I swore the mattress sighed in relief. Or maybe that was me. The moment he left my side, all the soreness I’d been pretending didn’t exist came roaring back like a bad punchline. My entire lower body throbbed like it had been rearranged by a semi truck wearing hockey skates. I winced, slowly sitting up, feeling everything protest with an angry chorus of ‘what the fuck were you thinking, Andrew?’ “God,” I muttered, rubbing my face with both hands. “I’m never walking right again.” The sound of water running in the bathroom made me look toward the door. The bathroom door didn’t close all the way—typical for this cheap studio—and the steam already started curling out, warm and soft like a fog rolling into shore. I could almost see his silhouette behind the glass stall if I tried hard enough. I didn’t try. …Okay, maybe I peeked. But just once. Then I tore my eyes away and looked around the wreckage that used to be my room. Clothe
Pain.That was the first thing I registered.A dull, heavy ache that throbbed through my thighs and lower back like a quiet echo. I winced a little as I shifted, but I didn’t move far. I couldn’t.Because the second thing I noticed—the more important thing—was the warmth.A body. Pressed up against my back. An arm draped over my waist, fingers splayed across my stomach. Legs tangled with mine beneath the sheets. Breath brushing the curve of my neck in slow, even waves.Captain.He was still here.And he was still holding me.I blinked slowly, the early morning light barely bleeding through the curtains. The room was quiet, soft. The kind of silence that feels like it has weight. Like it's watching you.I didn’t know how long I’d been awake. A minute? Ten? I’d been lying still, too aware of every inch of his skin against mine. Too aware of the way my heart thudded in my chest, like it was trying to say something I wasn’t ready to hear.I tried to move again—just enough to slide out of