Page 12 of Hard Check

"You're trying to embarrass rookies and get footage for blackmail."

"Those goals aren't mutually exclusive." TJ grinned, then caught sight of someone across the room. "Gotta run—Mercier's about to be convinced he can do the splits."

As TJ departed, Pike turned to me with an amused expression. "You really hate team bonding that much?"

"I don't hate it. I'm just selective about my participation."

"And this?" He gestured between us. "Is this participation?"

The question caught me off-guard. I stared at my half-empty glass, suddenly aware of how unusual this was—me, socializing, having an actual conversation with a teammate that wasn't about line changes or defensive coverage.

"This is..." I searched for the right words. "This is mentorship. Professional development."

"Right. Professional." He drained the last of his beer and stood, wincing again as the movement pulled at bruised muscles. "Better get back before they volunteer me for something worse than karaoke."

He laughed as he walked away—light, easy, perfect, like everything was fine, and I didn't feel something in my gut when I thought he was hurt. And damn it, I didn't know what that something was.

I finished my bourbon, left cash under the glass for Dex, and headed for the door. Mercier intercepted me halfway there.

"Leaving so soon? They're about to start karaoke."

"Which explains my sudden urgency. Some of us value our eardrums."

"Suit yourself." He studied me with that goalie's gaze—too perceptive for comfort. "You did good with Pike today."

"Only doing what Coach assigned." I shifted my weight, suddenly aware I was mimicking Pike's nervous stance from earlier. I stopped immediately.

"Don't give me that shit. I've seen you do what Coach assigns." He tilted his head. "This was different."

"Different, how?"

"For one, you're listening to him. For another—" Mercier paused, choosing his words carefully. "—you went after Novak like he'd insulted your mother, not your mentee."

"It was a late hit."

"It was a hockey hit. You've seen worse. Hell, you've delivered worse." A knowing smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, Carver. We've been teammates for what, three seasons now? I can read you better than most."

Heat rose on the back of my neck. "There's nothing to read."

"If you say so." He shrugged, but I hadn't convinced him. "It's an observation. Goalies notice things. Patterns. Changes." He tapped his temple. "Comes with the position."

"You analyzing everyone, or am I special?"

"Everyone. Force of habit, but you've been different since Coach paired you with Pike. More... engaged."

I scoffed. "That your professional diagnosis?"

He clapped my shoulder. "It's okay to care, you know. Won't kill your reputation as team grump."

"I'll keep that in mind when planning my personal rebrand." I stepped around him, needing to escape before he read something else in my expression. "Don't let TJ try that table-dancing stunt again. Workers' comp doesn't cover stupidity-induced injuries."

Mercier chuckled. "Drive safe, Carver."

"Always do."

I pushed through the door, but Mercier's observations followed me into the night. If he'd noticed something, who else had? And what exactly had he seen?

Outside, the cold Maine air washed away the warm haze of the bar. My truck started on the second try. I considered that a win.

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