Page 78 of Hard Check
“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Ford said. “Whatever it is.”
Leo’s jaw worked. He pulled at a thread on his towel. “I appreciate that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. That’s the problem.” He wasn’t used to having teammates who actually gave a damn. Leo pulled a shirt over his head. The fabric caught on his ear, and he tugged it free with more force than necessary. “I’m just off. It happens.”
Ford watched him for a beat. Then he nodded, stood, and put his hand on Leo’s shoulder—firm, brief, carrying more than the words around it. He walked back to his stall and started packing his bag.
Leo finished dressing. Laced his shoes. Packed his bag, zipped it, and sat there with it on his lap in an empty locker room.
He missed Dawson with a weight that sat on his lungs every time he breathed. But he wasn’t going to let that be the reason he left.
The bus leftfor Cleveland after practice. Ten hours, give or take. A four-game swing—two in Cleveland, then two in Hershey—and Leo wouldn’t see Port Haven for a week.
He took a window seat near the middle, put his headphones in, and watched Wisconsin scroll past. Fields gone white under a thin layer of snow, bare trees lining the highway, the sky a flat gray that went on forever. Pretty, if you ignored the part where it was trying to freeze you to death. Guys played cards. Jonesy had the speaker going, some country song that Ski was singing along to and getting the words wrong. Novo slept with his hood up and his mouth open.
Every road trip Leo had taken in Orlando, leaving had felt like the easy part. The bus pulled out, the city fell away, and whatever was complicated about his life stayed behind at the exit ramp. He’d sleep, or he’d talk, or he’d scroll his phone and let the miles blank him out. But Port Haven didn’t fall away. It sat in him—the lake, the bar, the apartment, the man—and ten hours of highway didn’t do a thing to loosen it.
Riggs was on the phone with his kids across the aisle, asking about their school day with a grin Leo could hear from two rows back. Sully was asleep, taking up a seat and a half. Carter had his tablet out because he never stopped working. Leo could name every detail. These were his guys.
Leo pulled out his phone, scrolled past the group chat, past his mother’s last text that he still hadn’t answered, past the email from his agent that sat unopened.
He opened his contacts. Scrolled to O.
Phil Orsini. The name sat there with the green phone icon beside it and Leo’s thumb hung over it, close enough to feel the pull. He could see the whole thing. The call. Phil’s measured voice, already calculating, already framing it as an opportunity.There’s been some interest. Nothing formal, but if you’re open to it, I can start a conversation.
He closed the contact. Locked the screen. Put the phone in his jacket pocket and left his hand there, pressing it flat against his thigh like he was holding something down.
The hotelin Cleveland was a Holiday Inn Express off I-90. Leo dropped his bag on the bed closest to the window. Novo took the other one without comment, plugged his phone in, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Leo sat on the bed and pulled out his phone.
It was getting harder by the day to keep from reaching out to Dawson. He read through the exchanges they’d had since he left Dawson’s place and wondered why he was being so damnedstubborn. He knew there was nothing he could say that would make Dawson feel any worse than he likely already did.
He typedI miss youand stared at it. Deleted it. TypedI’m stilland couldn’t finish the sentence.
The door opened. Novo came out in a button-down and dark jeans, hair still damp, and stopped when he saw the bathroom counter.
“How many of those are new?” Novo asked. “You had four last time.”
“You counted my skincare products?”
“There wasn’t much else to do in Grand Rapids.” Novo picked up the toner bottle and read the label as if it were written in another language. Set it back down. “Jonesy says the steakhouse is ten minutes away. You ready, or do you need to do your makeup first?”
Leo locked his phone. The cursor disappeared. Whatever he was going to say to Dawson, he wasn’t going to find it tonight.
“You’re just pissed that I’m prettier than you are,” Leo quipped. He made a point of checking himself out in the mirror while Novo waited by the door. “Let’s go.”
The steakhouse tucked between a dry cleaner and a nail salon. Jonesy had already commandeered a corner booth by the time they got there. Novo slid in next to Ski. Leo took the end, across from Ford, who was studying the beer list with the focus of a man making his one off-day drink count.
“Twelve-ounce ribeye,” Jonesy announced to no one in particular. “Loaded baked potato. Extra sour cream. Don’t judge me.”
“No one’s judging you,” Ski said. “We’re worried about your heart giving out while you’re on the ice.”
“Worry about your own cholesterol.”
Leo ordered a strip and a beer and sat back. Jonesy and Ski argued about steak temps. Ford asked the server three questions about the brussels sprouts and then ordered them anyway. Novo ate like he hadn’t seen food in days, which wasn’t anything new.
