Page 5 of The Callahan Effect

The Red Cedars arena dominated the western edge of campus, its modern façade gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Huge banners celebrating conference championships hung proudly across the entrance, and bronze statues of former players stood outside as silent reminders of the program's history.

One of the inscriptions carved into polished granite stood out.

Earn the jersey every day.

The words lingered in my mind as I focused on the arena. Coach Callahan had said much the same thing in Florida. Nothing would be handed to me here, and I'd never expected it would.

For the first time since leaving Florida, I relaxed. This was exactly where I belonged.

David parked outside the athletes' residence before switching off the engine, and for a moment neither of us moved. Students wandered between the buildings in small groups, some carrying boxes into dormitories while others appeared to know exactly where they were going. The campus possessed the comfortable confidence of a place that had been welcoming nervous newcomers for generations. I was simply the latest in a long line of students arriving with equal measures of excitement and uncertainty.

"I'll leave you to get organized," David remarked as he climbed out and opened the rear of the vehicle. "The buses leave at eight tomorrow morning for the team's preseason retreat. Coach Callahan likes getting everyone away from campus before the semester starts. Five days in the mountains usually tells him everything he needs to know about a player. Be at the arena by seven-thirty. Coach Callahan considers arriving on time the same as arriving late."

I grinned as I lifted my equipment bag onto the pavement.

"I've heard enough about him to believe that."

"You'll discover most of the stories are true."

"Should I be worried?"

David laughed.

"Only if you cut corners. He has very little patience for those who try."

After thanking him for the lift, I watched the university vehicle disappear around the corner before turning my attention to the building that would become home. The residence wasn't especially modern, yet it had character. Red brick walls climbed three stories beneath a slate roof, broad windows overlooked neatly maintained gardens and mature trees shaded the pathways leading toward the academic precinct. It felt more like an old lodge than a student dormitory, and I found that strangely reassuring.

Inside, the foyer buzzed with activity. Parents carried bedding through the hallways while resident advisors answered questions with practiced smiles. A noticeboard covered one wall, advertising everything from tutoring services to hiking clubs, volunteer organizations, and intramural sports. University life extended well beyond the rink, a fact I'd promised myself I wouldn't ignore. Hockey remained my priority, but I hadn't traveled across the country to spend every waking hour inside an arena.

The young woman behind the reception desk welcomed me warmly before handing over an access card, a campus map, and a folder thick enough to require its own backpack.

"You'll be in room three-twelve," she explained. "You have the room to yourself as requested."

Having wealthy parents willing to pay for my accommodation meant I was able to pay for a single room.

I wasn't antisocial by nature, but having a room to myself meant I wouldn't feel obliged to make conversation.

The lift groaned its way to the third floor, opening onto a corridor lined with identical timber doors. My room sat near the end, overlooking a stand of evergreen trees that stretched toward the athletic complex beyond. The accommodation proved better than I'd expected. An oversized single bed stood against one wall and on another was a desk and bookshelf, while a generous wardrobe occupied one corner beside a compact kitchenette. The furniture lacked personality, but that would change once photographs, textbooks and the inevitable pile of hockey gear claimed all available surfaces.

Before starting on the unpacking, I remembered the promise I'd made Mom before boarding the plane and dialed home. She answered before the first ring had finished.

"You made it."

I smiled. "Hi, Mom."

"How's the room? Did your hockey bag arrive? Have you eaten? Is it cold?"

Dad's voice sounded loud through the speaker.

"Honey, let the boy answer one question before you ask the next."

I laughed, picturing them standing together in the kitchen exactly as they had every evening for as long as I could remember.

"Everything's fine. The room's better than I expected, my gear arrived with me, and the campus is incredible."

"We weren't worried," Dad said.

Mom snorted.