Page 35 of Hard Check

"Sorry 'bout that. Didn't know anyone was still here."

I answered reflexively. "It's fine. We were just leaving."

Carver shouldered his gear bag with mechanical efficiency. "We should go."

We descended the steps in unison. Neither of us spoke. What was there to say?

As we approached the separate hallways that would lead to our respective parking areas, Carver hesitated.

"Pike—" he started, then stopped, the thought hanging incomplete.

I waited.

"Thanks," he finished finally. "For finding me."

It wasn't what he'd started to say—it wasn't even close. The substitution hung between us, a lesser thing replacing what neither of us was ready to name. I nodded anyway, accepting it for what it was: a beginning.

"Anytime." It might have sounded flippant, but I didn't intend it that way.

He adjusted the strap of his bag. "See you tomorrow. Early practice."

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

He turned then, disappearing down the east corridor without looking back. I stood frozen for several seconds before heading in the opposite direction toward the player lot where my car waited.

The night air hit me when I pushed through the exit door—crisp, clarifying, and painfully real after the charged atmosphere inside. My breath clouded in front of me.

I hadn't meant to lean in. I hadn't meant to want it, but I did. More than I knew. More than I was ready for.

And the worst part? I didn't regret it. Not one bit.

Tomorrow we'd be teammates again, mentor and mentee, maintaining the careful distance of professional obligation. But tonight, for seventeen seconds in an empty arena, we'd almost been something else entirely.

And I couldn't un-know that truth now if I tried.

Chapter nine

Carver

Carver:Just tape. Promise.

Iranmyhandovermy face, feeling the stubble I hadn't bothered to shave in the last two days. What the hell was I doing?

Inviting Pike over to "watch tape" was the thinnest excuse I'd ever manufactured, and I'd once tried to convince a ref that my stick had broken itself out of frustration with his call. The weather forecasters promised a blizzard. It canceled our evening game.

The knock on my door announced a visitor as I pulled a second beer from the fridge. I wiped my suddenly damp palms against my jeans and forced myself to count to five before moving toward the door.

I peered out the peephole and was blasted with a ray of sunshine. When I opened the door, Pike stood there with snow caught in his eyelashes, cheeks flushed crimson from the cold, and a grocery bag clutched to his chest.

"Blizzard party guest of honor reporting in." A playful smile spread across his face.He's killing me. The careful distance we'd maintained since that night at the arena—four days, seventeen hours—was suddenly dangerously fragile.

"Almost thought you'd changed your mind." I moved to the side, farther than necessary, to avoid an accidental brush of our shoulders.

"Nah, it just took forever at the store. People are buying bread like the apocalypse is coming." He shrugged out of his coat, revealing a faded University of Minnesota hoodie. "Didn't know what snacks you like, so I bought options."

"As long as there're no kale chips in there, we're good."

"That was my first choice. Healthy fuel for healthy bodies." His expression remained so earnest I nearly believed him.

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