Page 7 of Nowhere to Hide
“Sloane.”
“Ivy.”
She grins at me and says, “This is going to be the best year of our lives.”
two
ROWAN
The weight roomis empty at 6:45 in the morning, even on freshman move-in day, which is how I like it.
I use my keycard to scan in, flip on the overheads one bank at a time, and pick the corner by the squat rack. Then I get to work, enjoying the fifteen minutes each day when I don’t have anyone else’s problems to solve.
Fifteen minutes later, on schedule, my phone lights up on the bench.
I pick it up, brace my elbow on my knee, and hit accept. “Hi, Dad,” I say.
“Weight room?”
“Yep.”
“Good.” A pause. “Been working on your slapshot like we talked about? You need to be putting a clean release on film by Thanksgiving, because if you want development camp invites…”
I sigh, then I’m thankful he doesn’t hear it. “I know, Dad. I’m working on it with thecoachesand they’re saying there’s a lot of improvement since last year…”
“Good, good. How’s the team looking?” He barges on ahead, because even phone calls with his son are a checklist item for Daniel Hale. “And Gavin?”
“Team’s fine,” I say, because that’s the easy truth, then pause because things with Gavin — the captain — are harder to explain. “Gavin’s Gavin. He’s fine.”
“Mm.” There’s a pause. “A leader can look fine for a long time before he isn’t, Rowan. Make yourself the next man up, because that’s the whole game in sports and in business.”
“Yeah.” The words are coming out on autopilot now. “I hear you.”
“Good. Have a good session. Talk later.”
The line clicks off before I can say anything back, and I set the phone face down on the bench. What I didn’t tell him is that I’ve generally been the next man up my whole life, including for Gavin these past few months.
I could tell my father that, but I won’t.
Because if I tell him, he won’t think,good. He’ll thinkbar cleared, and the bar will move. Because if you hand Daniel Hale a win, he makes the game harder, until there’s a level you can’t ever beat.
I load another plate and get back to work.
The door buzzes about ten minutes later, and Sebastian walks in ahead of everybody, wearing a gray hoodie that’s seen better decades, his face doing the thing where he wants a conversation but doesn’t want to look like he wants one.
“Hey,” he says. “Wanted to catch you.”
“Caught me.”
He sets his bag down. “Theo’s talking transfer portal.”
I don’t move. “He’s a freshman, Seb. He reported three days ago…”
“I know, man. I’m just telling you. He’s worried about ice time.”
“Freshman,” I repeat. “Three days.”
“Right. I know that. He doesn’t.”
