Page 25 of Puck Fest
“Noah.”
He stops. Doesn’t turn around, just stops.
“Thanks for coming down. For the game.”
“It’s my job to monitor player conduct.”
“Is that what you were doing? Just monitoring?”
He turns then, looks at me, and his expression shifts. Just for a second. Like a door opening and closing so fast you’re not sure you saw it.
Then it’s gone, replaced by that professional tight-ass mask he wears so well.
“See you Saturday, Masterson.”
He walks away, and I’m left standing there next to my truck. Keating was right. This is fucking complicated as hell.
Because Noah is getting in my head and under my skin.
And he just shut down completely when I brought up the fact that he might be thinking the same things as me.
I throw my bag in the truck bed, get in, and start the engine. I sit there for a minute with my hands on the wheel, staring at the dark gray cement wall in front of me.
This is a bad idea. Noah controls my media access, my public image, whether I survive this probation period. Getting involved would complicate everything. Could blow up my career, his career, probably Coach’s career too if it goes sideways.
But I keep thinking about how he looked a few minutes ago when his guard dropped and I saw something real underneath all that control.
I drive home on autopilot, not really paying attention to the roads. My building’s quiet when I get there. Most people are asleep. Normal people with normal jobs who don’t spend their nights getting checked into boards and fantasizing about PR directors.
Inside my condo, I drop my bag by the door, grab a beer from the fridge, and sink onto the couch in the dark.
My phone buzzes with a text from Noah.
Access code 4187. North entrance. Good game tonight.
Three words at the end that he didn’t need to add.
Good game tonight.
Professional courtesy, probably. Or maybe not.
I text back.
See you Saturday.
I frown at the phone. Maybe I should add something else.
Thanks for waiting. Thanks for watching. Something that acknowledges what just happened in that parking garage.
Instead I go with humor. My usual.
Try not to stress about it too much.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then they appear again.
That’s my job.
Stressing?
