Page 137 of Offside

I stopped.

Calloway met my eyes. “Fix it with Callahan. This week.” He turned a page. “Everything else follows from that.”

I stood for a moment in the office.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

I let myself out.

The locker room was loud at first. The usual noise of twenty-something men decompressing after a hard practice, equipment coming off, music starting up from someone’s phone. I found my stall and sat down and started on my skates without joining any of it, which was not unusual enough to draw attention right away. Captains sometimes needed a minute. Everyone knew it.

I’d been sitting there for ten minutes without moving by the time Cole appeared next to me, and Cole had the antenna he’d always had, built from a lifetime of reading rooms I guessed, knowing exactly when someone needed to be left alone and when they needed to be bothered, and today he had clearly decided I had spent enough time sulking and needed to be bothered.

“You gonna take those skates off or are we doing this all day?” Cole asked, dropping onto the bench beside me.

I looked at him sideways.

“Because I’m patient,” Cole said, “but I’m also a person who would like to shower at some point.”

Across the room, Eli was pulling off his pads with the methodical calm that was just Eli. He didn’t look up, but he didn’t leave either. Theo had his back to us, ostensibly occupied with his gear, but had gone completely still. A few of the younger guys watched with open curiosity, aware something was happening and not yet sure whether to insert themselves.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You are not even a little bit fine,” Cole said pleasantly. “Calloway just lit us all up in front of the whole group, Callahan came in, took his shit off and left through the back exit, and Maren walked past the locker room twenty minutes ago and didn’t look in once—which she always does, by the way, she always glances in, it’s a whole thing—and you’ve been sitting in your skates staring at your own hands like they owe you money.” He tilted his head. “So. What’s going on, Lindy?”

I blew out a long breath. Looked at the ceiling. Thought about how much easier it would be to say nothing, I’m good, drop it. Then I thought about Maren’s avoiding me, and Griffin’s back exit, and the Swedish text that had gone unanswered, and I thought no. This has gone on long enough.

“Maren and I have been seeing each other since October,” I said.

The locker room did not erupt. In fact, quite the opposite. It went briefly, electrically quiet, and then six people started talking at once.

“Since October⁠—”

“I knew it⁠—”

“You owe me fifty bucks,” someone said to someone else.

I looked at Cole. “There were bets?”

“Lindqvist.” Cole held up a hand, the picture of wounded dignity. “With respect, you two have been making eyes at each other since the family skate in September. I’m guessing far before that. There were absolutely bets.”

“I did not make eyes—” I stopped myself because I probably was making eyes at her. I couldn’t keep my fucking eyes off her when she was around.

I turned to Cole.

Cole shrugged with zero remorse. “It was extremely funny.”

“Okay but here’s the thing.” Danny, one of the younger wingers, leaned forward with barely contained energy. “Callahan’s sister? That’s—I mean—we all know the rule, right? That’s the rule.”

“Which rule,” I said flatly. I knew which fucking rule. Stupid fucking sister rule.

“The rule. You don’t—” Danny made a wide arm gesture that was apparently meant to encompass the entire situation. “It’s like a founding principle.”

“You’re twenty-one.”

“The rule is ageless.”

“You don’t even have a sister.”