Page 28 of The Callahan Effect

"I know you've probably got your own schedule to keep, but..." I hesitated briefly, wondering if I was moving too quickly. "Would you like to have lunch with me after I shower and change?"

Jack's eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise.

He paused before his fingers moved across the screen, and when he held up his phone, the brightness in his eyes told me his answer.

I'd like that very much.

Relief spread through me so quickly I couldn't stop smiling.

"Great. Give me about twenty minutes?"

Jack nodded.

I picked up my equipment bag and started toward the locker room before glancing back over my shoulder. Jack was still watching me, and he gave a small nod before turning back to help Graham.

As I disappeared down the hallway, one thought kept repeating itself.

For the first time since arriving at Evergreen, I wasn't thinking about hockey.

I was thinking about Jack... and wondering how twenty minutes could feel like such a long time to wait.

Chapter Six

JACK

The locker room corridor was unusually silent by the time Graham and I completed the equipment inventory for the morning. Most of the players had disappeared behind the heavy doors several minutes earlier, leaving only the occasional burst of laughter echoing faintly down the hallway before fading into the familiar sounds of showers and running water. Practice days always followed the same routine. Once the ice session ended, everyone scattered toward their own routines, and the arena settled into a calmer pace until the team gathered again for afternoon video analysis.

I glanced at my phone for what was probably the tenth time in as many minutes.

Twenty minutes.

That was how long Mason had estimated he'd need.

Nineteen had already passed.

I had spent years telling myself that medicine left little room for distractions. Every lecture, every practical assessment and every clinical placement demanded complete concentration. Relationships had always remained in the distant future because they didn't fit alongside everything else I wanted to accomplish.

Even before medical school, I'd accepted that being mute complicated every part of meeting new people. Most conversations eventually reached the same awkward point when someone realized I couldn't answer verbally, and despite everyone's best intentions, the dynamic inevitably changed. Some became uncomfortable. Others overcompensated. A few drifted away because they found communicating with me too difficult.

Mason hadn't.

He had treated my silence as though it were nothing more than another way of communicating. He watched my expressions instead of waiting impatiently for spoken answers, never once making me feel rushed while I typed replies and managed to make our conversations feel completely natural. I couldn't remember the last time I'd met someone who adapted so effortlessly.

It was...refreshing.

Dangerously so.

I'd known him for only a few hours, yet I found myself checking the hallway every time footsteps approached, hoping they belonged to him. Logic insisted I was reading far too much into a single invitation to lunch. Players invited new teammates to eat all the time. It didn't have to mean anything beyond simple friendship.

Unfortunately, logic wasn't winning the argument in my head.

The locker room door finally swung open and several players emerged first, talking animatedly as they headed toward the parking lot, each offering me a wave or nod as they passed. Ryan caught my eye long enough to flash an exaggerated grin before disappearing through the front entrance with Oscar and Ben still debating whether Ryan's final shot during practice had actually crossed the goal line.

A few minutes later Mason stepped into the corridor and for just a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Gone were the shoulder pads, helmet and practice jersey that had hidden most of his build throughout the morning. In their place were dark, fitted jeans and the same forest-green Evergreen hoodie I wore so often myself, the university crest stretching comfortably across his broad chest. The sleeves had been pushed casually to his forearms, exposing strong hands that looked equally capable of handling a hockey stick or offering comfort to someone who needed it. His dark hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and the fresh, clean scent floating toward me as he approached made my pulse stumble in a way I hadn't expected.

The hoodie suited him.