Page 9 of The Callahan Effect

The shrill buzz of my alarm shattered the silence at five o'clock, although judging by the restless night I'd endured, it hadn't interrupted much sleep. Every time I'd drifted off, my mind had returned to the previous afternoon. A new university. A new hockey program. Teammates whose names I'd memorized from the preseason roster but whose faces I'd soon have to learn. Then, without warning, the image that kept returning wasn't Coach Callahan or the arena or even the campus.

It was the intriguing man driving the Zamboni.

I could still picture him gliding across the ice with effortless precision, completely absorbed in the task before him. There had been something strangely captivating about the way he'd guided the huge machine around the ice as if performing a dance. He hadn't turned to see whether anyone was watching, nor had he seemed interested in attracting attention. He'd done his job before disappearing through the service corridor without looking back or speaking a single word.

I frowned at the memory while pulling on the Evergreen Red Cedars training gear Coach had instructed all of us to wear. It was ridiculous that someone I'd never spoken to occupied any space in my thoughts, particularly on the morning our preseason retreat began. If anything deserved my attention, it was the next five days. I'd heard enough stories from a couple of returning players yesterday to know Coach Callahan treated the retreat as the true beginning of the season. Whatever happened in the mountains apparently shaped the team long before the opening faceoff in October.

The residence hall was unusually silent as I made my way downstairs carrying an overnight bag in one hand and my hockey gear over the opposite shoulder. Most students hadn't yet arrived on campus, leaving the pathways close to deserted apart from the occasional early riser crossing between dormitories. A cool breeze filtered through the towering evergreens surrounding the university as I crossed the campus toward the arena.

The arena parking lot, however, was another matter entirely.

Players were arriving from all directions, vehicles pulling in one after another as equipment bags were hauled from truck beds and SUV cargo areas with the practiced efficiency that only hockey players seemed capable of managing. Conversations overlapped across the lot, laughter erupting regularly as many of my teammates reunited after the summer break. It struck me that this wasn't merely a collection of athletes preparing for training camp. They genuinely seemed to enjoy one another's company, greeting each other with bear hugs, shoulder checks and insults that communicated affection far better than formal welcomes ever could.

"Mason!"

I lifted my head to find Oscar Niewald, one of the seniors, waving enthusiastically from beside one of the buses. Even standing amongst a group of players, the towering goaltender dominated the scene through sheer size alone. At six-foot-seven he made those around him appear several inches shorter, yet the broad grin spreading across his face gave him the approachable quality of an oversized Labrador rather than an intimidating athlete.

"You actually showed up," he called.

"I thought attendance was compulsory."

Oscar shrugged.

"It is."

"Then why are you surprised?"

"I wasn't sure transfer students could read emails."

Luca Moretti, standing beside him, groaned.

"He's been practicing that joke since yesterday."

"It deserved a better audience."

"It deserved no audience."

I laughed despite myself as I reached them.

"You always like this before breakfast?"

"Worse," Luca answered.

"He gets louder after coffee."

Oscar appeared genuinely offended.

"I have range."

"You certainly have volume."

Their effortless banter dissolved the lingering uncertainty I'd carried from yesterday.

Joining an established team always involved walking into friendships that had taken time to develop, yet nobody seemed interested in reminding me I was the newcomer. Instead, conversations expanded to include me, questions about Florida giving way to discussions about classes, favorite road trips, and speculation over what Coach had planned for the retreat.

"I've heard rumors," Ethan Cruz announced dramatically as he wandered over balancing two coffees and an improbably large paper bag from a local bakery. "Apparently we're carrying logs this year."

"We've never carried logs," Ryan O'Connell replied.