Page 22 of The Save

“With Axel and Rory?”

He nodded, brushing cookie crumbs from his lip.

“They’re good guys. And I think they care more than you give them credit for.” I adjusted my bag on my back. “Maybe they just need one person to believe they can be more than what they are.”

Chase’s jaw worked. I gave him a nod, then turned to the door. When I was almost over the threshold, he said, “Will you walk me through those functions? For the team?”

I turned back. “I thought it was intuitive.”

Chase shrugged. “I thought you were a teacher’s pet.”

“Teachers. Not coaches. There’s a difference.”

His lips twitched. “Smart ass.” I mimed a curtsy, and he laughed. “I haven’t seen anyone run numbers like that. It could be helpful. Especially with Canada West coming up.”

The Canada West University Hockey Championship. Last year, the Outlaws had just missed qualifying for the CIAU University Cup—the national championship held each spring. “I could do that.”

Chase drew in a breath. “Are you—do you have plans now?”

I wet my lips, my brain short-circuiting. Did I have plans? I couldn’t think past Chase standing with his hands in his pockets in front of me. “No. I don’t have plans. But?—”

“But what?”

My stomach grumbled. “I will need to eat at some point.” Unlike him, I hadn’t downed four cookies in the last hour.

Chase’s mouth quirked. “I can take care of that.”

Chapter

Nine

We exitedthe North Centre under a sky smeared with bright spring colours. The days were getting longer, and I could almost smell the tailgate barbecues. Students still did them in the winter, but they were so much better when I wasn’t worried about smearing my winter coat with ketchup.

I was suddenly hyperaware of everything I did. How I walked, how I held my bag. Chase was just close enough that I could smell whatever soap he used—something clean and masculine. Had I even noticed what Garrett smelled like?

Chase didn’t say much until we turned down the path that curved toward the Dome. A little café slash corner store was tucked beside the arena, squeezed between the players' entrance and the main doors.

He pointed. “Does that work?”

“For what?”

He slowed. “For dinner.”

I hesitated. “I guess?—”

“I’ll get it, I just wondered?—”

“You don’t have to get it.” I didn’t want him to think my comment was a plea for help.

Chase stopped on the sidewalk. “You’re doing me—the team—a favour. I’m not going to make you pay for your food when you were probably heading home.”

I was heading home. But it wasn’t like I had great options there at the moment. I was probably going to make myself a bowl of canned soup.

“C’mon.” He started down the path, and I followed.

“Chase—”

“Coach Wilson.” He gave me a sidelong glance.

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