Page 51 of Pucking Around

I raise a brow. “And what’s your resting level of pain in these knees?”

His blue eyes flash but he conceals whatever he’s thinking. “Three,” he mutters. “I’m fine.”

I sigh, getting to my feet. “Well, I’m not feeling any obvious damage. Your range of motion is good. No heat or swelling yet, but we’ll keep a close eye on it,” I add for Tomlin, who is standing over his shoulder like a nervous mother hen. “If pain persists, we might need to get some scans—”

“No scans,” Kinnunen says. “I’ll ice it at the hotel. Coach is just overreacting.”

“We all just want you healthy and as pain free as possible,” I reply. “I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kind of a big deal.”

His face twitches into something that could almost be an emotion before he’s walking off. The press is chomping to hear a word from him about his shutout game.

It’s nearlyeleven by the time we get to the airport and all settle onto the flight. I wouldn’t call my knee check a proper physical, but it was better than nothing. And I’m feeling generous, so I leave Ilmari to his precious seats in row 20, finding a seat a bit farther back next to Morrow, who is already dozing against the window.

I’ve got my head down, phone in hand, texting Tess photos from the game.

“What are you doing?”

I glance up sharply to see Kinnunen looking like a Viking billionaire, staring down at me. “What?”

“You have to sit with me.”

I swear to god, the only reason I believe he said those words out loud is because I watched his lips move. “Ilmari, what the—”

“Come,” he mutters, turning away.

“No thanks,” I call after him.

He turns, glaring at me. “This is your fault. You have to come. Quickly, before they make us sit for takeoff.”

My eyes widen as I glance from a confused Morrow back to the massive goalie. “What the hell are you talking about? You literally made me move on the last flight. You said row 20 is yours. You said I couldn’t sit next to you. Sonowwhat’s your damage?”

“You’re his lucky charm,” says Langley from across the narrow aisle, his eyes on his Nintendo Switch.

“His what?”

“Oh, shit—yeah,” says Morrow, shifting in his window seat. “Doc, you gotta go. Mars needs you.”

I cross my arms with a huff. “Will someone please explain this madness with the seats before I swear off sitting and stand for the whole dang flight?”

“You break it, you buy it, Doc,” says Langley with a shrug.

“Breakwhat?”

“His pattern,” Morrow replies. “You broke his pattern by taking his seat and sitting in his row. No one sits with Mars. Not at meals, not on the bus. Definitely not on the plane. It’s his thing. Keeps him in the zone. You sat with him. You broke his pattern. And tonight, he played a shutout game.”

“So now he’s gotta know,” adds Langley, eyes still on his Mario Kart.

“Know what?”

“Maybe the shutout was a combo of his skill and bad shots on goal,” says Morrow.

“But maybe it was luck,” Langley adds.

“Maybe it wasyoubreaking his pattern.”

I finally catch up with a tired groan. “Oh god, so this is like a can’t-wash-my-socks thing?” I glance up at Ilmari who is still just standing there, a frown on his handsome face.

“Pretty much,” Morrow replies. “Mars needs to know if you’re lucky. You gotta go sit with him.”

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