Page 57 of Man Advantage

Patrick tipped his head toward the far blue line, where the next group was setting up. “You move it fast enough. Trust the first read.”

It wasn’t praise, exactly. Coming from a man who had watched every one of Cole’s touches, it landed close enough. Cole tightened his grip on his stick before the relief could reach his face.

Before Cole could answer, the coach called them back into line. Cole pushed off after Patrick, carrying the words with him through the rest of the drill.

His phone was waiting in the stall where he’d left it, along with a message Ford must have sent while Cole was on the ice.

Ford

Go show them.

They’d spent most of his drive to Chicago on the phone, then stayed on video after he checked into the hotel because neither of them had wanted to be the one to hang up. Cole had told Ford he missed him. Ford had pointed out that he’d only been gone a few hours, but he’d said it with his face too close to the camera and the covers pulled up beneath his chin.

Cole could still see the moment pain tightened Ford’s mouth when he shifted against the pillows. Ford had dismissed it before Cole could ask. Then he’d stayed until Cole’s phone warned him the battery was dying.

For years, Cole had imagined reaching this locker room and feeling as if he’d finally arrived. Instead, one text from Ford left him aching for the place he’d driven away from.

The room had started to empty when the coach stopped in front of Cole’s stall. Cole stood so quickly his shoulder clipped the open door of the locker behind him.

The coach didn’t appear to notice. He glanced down at the card in his hand. “Third pair with Fontaine tonight. Second penalty kill. Keep your first shift short and simple.”

Cole managed a nod, though the word tonight had knocked every other thought out of his head. The coach moved on, already calling for someone else, while Cole stayed where he was and stared at the jersey hanging inside his stall. His name curved across the shoulders. It had been there when he arrived, but now he had to wear it where every mistake would be seen by people waiting to decide whether Chicago had called up the wrong man.

He left his half-buttoned dress shirt hanging open and headed for the restroom. He locked himself in the first stall and sat on the closed lid before his legs could give him away in front of anyone.

He had been good enough in Port Haven. He knew that. But every player in this room had been the best somewhere else. One bad read tonight would happen faster. One mistake would end up on a screen above the ice, then online, then waiting for him every time he picked up his phone. He’d spent years telling himself he could play at this level. Now that someone had handed him the chance to prove it, all he could think about were the ways he might prove himself wrong.

His family chat had filled while he was on the ice. Cole had spent part of yesterday’s drive cycling through calls to his parents and siblings because the news had moved through the family faster than he could reach everyone. His mother had cried. His father had made Cole repeat the part about Chicago, then gone quiet long enough that Cole knew he was crying too. Britt had called next, Noah after her, each conversation starting with shouting and ending with a promise to watch.

Now Britt had sent a picture from his parents’ living room. Everyone had made it there for the game. Their father was crouched in front of the television fighting with the streaming app while their mother stood behind him in Cole’s Port Haven jersey, holding a bowl of popcorn and pointing at the screen as if that might help.

Noah had added a picture of himself in a Chicago hat Cole had never seen before.

Noah

Bought this when Port Haven traded for you. Knew I’d need it eventually.

Britt

Mom invited half the county. No pressure.

Cole laughed, but it came out thin. He told them the lineup was official, accepted enough capital letters and exclamation points to fill the screen, then opened his conversation with Ford.

I’m in. Third pair with Fontaine.

Ford answered before the screen dimmed.

Ford

Knew it.

Charlotte wants to know if this means you’re never coming home.

Cole’s stomach clenched.

Told her it just means you’re playing tonight.

You earned this. Go play.