Page 27 of Trade It All

He shakes his head, lifting the phone to his ear as he hits call. “No. Probably nothing.”

We keep moving. The line rings once. Twice. Three times. He pulls the phone away, glancing at the screen before putting it back to his ear like maybe it’ll change if he tries again.

“She’s not answering,” he mutters.

The space behind my eyes starts to throb. Slow. Then sharper. Luka lowers the phone just as it buzzes again in his hand. Another message. His expression shifts when he reads it. Not panic. But closer.

“I’m heading out,” he says, already turning toward the exit. “She wants me to pick her up from Tyler’s.”

“Now?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He glances back at me, already moving. “It’s probably nothing. She just—”

He doesn’t finish it. He doesn’t need to. I’m already moving with him. That pressure behind my eyes builds, sharper now, more insistent, something that doesn’t settle no matter how much I try to push it down. My hand lifts without thought, adjusting the watch at my wrist, pressing just enough to feel it. The hair tie sits where it always does, tucked beneath it—steady and familiar in a way that has nothing to do with logic. It grounds me. And that’s not something I let myself think about too closely.

“I’m coming with you,” I say.

Luka shakes his head immediately. “You don’t have to. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He exhales, glancing at me like he’s deciding whether to push it. “It’s probably just Tyler being Tyler,” he says. “She’s fine.”

The words don’t settle anything. If anything, they make that pressure behind my eyes tighten further, something low and controlled building under it. I reach the doors first, pushing them open without slowing.

“Coach—”

“I’ll follow you,” I cut him off, already stepping out into the night air. “You can argue with me about it later.”

He doesn’t try again— I don’t give himthe space to.

We pull into the lot outside Tyler’s building within minutes of each other. Luka is out of his car before I’ve fully shut my door, his movements already sharper than they were back at the arena. The elevator ride is short. Too short. The kind that doesn’t give your mind enough time to settle into anything solid before the doors slide open again. The music hits first. Loud enough that it bleeds into the hallway, bass heavy, voices layered over it in a way that turns everything into noise instead of sound.

Luka and I step out at the same time. And look at each other.

What the fuck.

He exhales once through his nose, already pulling his phone out.

“I texted her,” he says, quick, controlled. “Told her I was here.”

I nod. But I’m already moving. The hallway stretches out in front of us, the music growing louder with each step, each beat of it settling into something that doesn’t sit right.

My fist hits the door hard enough that it cracks through the music, sharp and demanding in a way that doesn’t leave room for being ignored. Once. Twice. Again.

The door swings open. Tyler stands there with a beer in his hand and a grin on his face, like he’s still inside whatever moment he thinks this is. Until he sees us. The smile doesn’t disappear. But it shifts.

“You come here to congratulate me?” he asks, his words dragging slightly at the edges.

Luka and I exchange a quick glance. “Congratulate?” Luka repeats.

“Yeah,” Tyler says, pushing the door open a little wider like he’s inviting us into something we didn’t ask to be part of. “I got called up. Maddie and I are going to Denver.”

He looks at Luka when he says it. But I don’t hear anything after the word Maddie. The rest of it blurs. Denver. She’s leaving? The thought doesn’t sit right. It doesn’t line up with anything I know about her. With the way she’s been. The way she moves through the rink. The way something in her has been just slightly off without ever fully tipping into something I could name.

I would’ve known.I would’ve felt it.My jaw tightens.

Luka is still talking, something low and controlled, something measured in a way that keeps the situation from shifting too fast. I don’t hear most of it. Because there’s only one thing that matters.