Page 22 of Trade It All

On my way.

I toss the phone into the passenger seat, start the car, and pull out of the lot.

Chapter 8

Dean

Theroadstretchestimein a way nothing else does. Days blur together. Cities change, rinks change, hotels change, but the rhythm stays the same. Wake up, skate, meetings, game, repeat. It should feel repetitive. It should wear on you. It doesn’t. Not when the team is playing like this.

We carry the momentum from that last home win straight into the road trip, the kind of momentum you don’t question too hard because you know how quickly it can disappear if you do. The guys are locked in. Focused. There’s an edge to them that wasn’t there earlier in the season, something sharper that shows up in the way they move, in the way they finish plays instead of hesitating. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. It shows in the first away game. Not perfect, but controlled. Disciplined in a way that matters when the crowd isn’t yours and the ice doesn’t feel like home. Luka holds us where we need it. Jake keeps the linestight. Grady pushes the pace until the other team starts chasing instead of thinking.

We take the win. The second game is messier. That one turns into a fight. Not literal, not the kind that ends with gloves on the ice, but the kind that drags through every shift, every period stretching longer than it should because neither side is willing to give. Those are the games that tell you who you actually are. We don’t break. We grind it out. Another win.

By the time we’re on the bus heading back to the hotel, the energy is different. Looser. Not unfocused, but earned. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need to be loud to be felt.

Grady is stretched across two seats like he owns them, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other hanging loose off the edge, as he talks to Lennon on the phone in a low voice that says he doesn’t care who hears him, but still keeps it quiet anyway. Jake’s a few rows up, scrolling through something on his tablet, probably already breaking down plays from the game we just finished.

And Jasper—Jasper is sitting straight up, staring out the window like he’s got somewhere else he’d rather be.

I take the seat across from him, watching him for a second before I say anything. “You look miserable.”

He doesn’t glance over. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to jump out of a moving bus.”

That gets a slight shift from him, his jaw tightening just enough to give him away. “I just don’t see the point in sitting around all night when we’re in a new city.”

I lean back in the seat, crossing one ankle over the other. “We’ve got a game tomorrow.”

“We always have a game,” he shoots back, finally looking at me. “That doesn’t mean we have to act like we’re already eighty.”

A low laugh comes from behind me.Luka.Of course.

“Speak for yourself,” he says, leaning forward just enough to rest his arms over the back of the seat. “Some of us enjoy our beauty sleep.”

“You don’t sleep,” Jasper mutters.

“I rest my eyes,” Luka corrects, completely serious.

Grady snorts from two rows back.

“I’m asking if anyone’s coming,” Jasper says, pointedly looking at me now.

I let out a quiet breath through my nose. “I’m not going out.”

“Shocker,” Luka mutters.

Jasper leans back, stretching his legs out like he’s settling in for the argument. “You never go out.”

“I’m the coach.”

“And?” he pushes. “You’re still alive.”

“Barely,” Luka adds.

I ignore him. “You want to go out, go out. That’s your choice. My job is to make sure you’re ready tomorrow.”

Jasper watches me for a second, then his mouth tilts slightly, something knowing slipping into it. “Haven’t seen Camille around lately.”