Page 20 of The Callahan Effect

Something deep inside me shifted.

I had admired men before. I found them attractive, but nothing had ever felt quite like this.

Standing in front of Mason Brooks, I experienced an overwhelming certainty that every photograph and every recruitment tape I'd watched over the summer had failed to capture the one thing that mattered most.

They had never shown how effortlessly he could steal my breath.

Neither Mason nor I seemed willing to release the handshake, although I had no idea whether he felt the same unexpected pull that had rooted me to the spot or whether I was reading meaning into an ordinary introduction.

His thumb shifted imperceptibly against the side of my hand, and the sudden spark caused by the small movement traveled through me with such startling force that I became conscious of every player standing nearby. I withdrew my hand before my reaction could become visible, hoping the smile I offered was natural rather than as shaken as I felt. Mason continued watching me with an expression that suggested he had noticed something passing between us even if neither of us could explain it.

Dad turned his attention back to the team before the silence could become uncomfortable, continuing with the final instructions for the morning session as Mason stepped into place beside Ryan.

I should have moved away and returned to the maintenance bay, yet my feet remained planted near the bench when Mason glanced back at me once more. The look lasted barely a second, but it carried the same open curiosity I had seen in his eyes when our hands met.

Attraction had never frightened me when it remained safely distant and unspoken, but there was nothing distant about Mason Brooks. He stood only a few yards away, close enough that I could see the faint scar cutting through one eyebrow and the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends. Every detail made him more compelling, and the force of my response left me wondering whether I had spent so long protecting myself from disappointment that one genuine connection had become enough to overturn every careful boundary I had built.

The returning players knew me well enough not to expect conversation, and none of them gave my silence a second thought. Most had been around Evergreen for more than a year and had long ago learned to communicate with me through gestures, phones or the handful of signs Dad encouraged them to pick up during their first season.

The newcomers, however, knew only what Dad had told them which was nothing until now. He had introduced me as his son and the man responsible for the ice, but he hadn't explained I was mute because there had been no reason to turn a simple introduction into a history lesson. I had raised my hand, smiled and received their greetings, and until someone addressed me directly there was nothing to suggest I was any different from anyone else standing beside the rink.

One of the first-year players broke away from the group while Dad conferred with an assistant coach over the first drill. I recognized him from the roster sheets but couldn't recall his name, only that he was a defenseman recruited from a high school in Minnesota and had arrived at Evergreen less than a week earlier. He walked toward me with the swagger of someone determined to appear more confident than he felt, extending a hand before I had time to reach for my phone.

"I'm Caleb," he announced. "Caleb Danvers."

I accepted his hand and nodded in greeting, offering the same smile I'd given every other newcomer over time, but when I released him and failed to respond verbally, confusion crossed his face. I reached toward my pocket, intending to retrieve my phone and type an explanation, yet he mistook the movement for dismissal and glanced over his shoulder to see whether anyone else had witnessed what he believed was deliberate rudeness.

"That's it?" he demanded, his voice carrying farther across the rink than he probably intended. "Not even a hello? You think you're too good to speak to us because you're Coach's son?"

The conversations around us stopped with startling speed.

I froze with my hand still halfway to my pocket, the familiar humiliation arriving so violently that it seemed to hollow out my chest. Caleb mistook my silence for confirmation of everything he had assumed, his expression hardening into open resentment.

"If you can't bother to be polite and give me the time of day, don't expect me to be polite to you."

The words struck every old wound I'd spent years pretending no longer hurt. I had heard variations of them throughout my life from classmates, strangers, impatient customers, and people who assumed silence was arrogance rather than the only reality I had ever known. Usually I could endure the misunderstanding long enough to explain. I would type a message, gesture toward my throat, or wait for someone nearby to intervene, and once the embarrassment passed I would reassure the person that no lasting harm had been done. This time the explanation refused to come. My fingers trembled too badly to reach my phone, and the weight of players watching me made the arena feel unbearably exposed.

The veterans stared at Caleb in stunned disbelief. Around them, the newcomers looked from him to me and back again, their confusion obvious as the rink fell abruptly silent. One of the assistant coaches lowered his clipboard as though he'd forgotten he was holding it. Nobody laughed. Nobody mistook the confrontation for harmless teasing. The veterans knew me, knew how much I hated becoming the center of attention and understood exactly how deeply an accusation like Caleb's could cut, particularly so soon after I'd forced myself to stand in front of the entire team.

Mason's head turned from Caleb to me, his brow furrowing as though trying to understand why I still hadn't defended myself. The attraction I'd felt during our handshake turned painful because he'd met me less than five minutes earlier and was now watching another man accuse me of being arrogant

I turned my attention toward Dad. The smile he'd been wearing disappeared instantly, replaced by a fury so intense that color climbed from his collar to his cheeks. His gaze found mine first, and beneath the anger directed at Caleb was the helpless concern of a father who knew he couldn't undo what had already been said. I didn't stay long enough to hear the explanation I knew would follow.

Turning away from the team, I pushed through the gate beside the bench and hurried toward the tunnel beneath the stands. Someone called my name, but I didn't slow. I kept walking until the entrance to the rink disappeared behind the concrete wall, then stopped abruptly and braced both hands against it. My breathing came in short, uneven bursts as the humiliation I'd been holding at bay finally broke free. Tears burned behind my eyes, and I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand, hating that a stranger's ignorance could still reduce me to the frightened six-year-old who found his voice was gone.

The muffled drone of voices filtered from the rink, but the words were lost beneath the ringing in my ears. Dad would already be explaining what Caleb hadn't understood. I stayed where I was, staring at the concrete floor until the sting eased enough that I could breathe again.

Footsteps echoed behind me, growing louder with every passing second. I didn't turn around. I couldn't. I wiped angrily at the tears blurring my vision, desperate to regain control before whoever had followed reached me.

"Jack."

I'd heard Mason speak only once before, during our introduction, but there was no mistaking his voice now. The concern in it enfolded me with unexpected gentleness, and for an instant I couldn't bring myself to move. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, ashamed to let him see the tears I'd failed to hide and terrified that if I looked at him, the fragile control I'd managed to reclaim would disappear completely.

Shortly after, soft fingers closed around my forearm. There was no urgency in the touch, no attempt to pull me around before I was ready. He rested his hand there, warm and reassuring, as though reminding me I wasn't standing in the corridor alone.

I drew a shaky breath and slowly lifted my head.

Mason stepped around until he was standing in front of me. The instant our eyes met, the last of my composure crumbled. Tears spilled unchecked down my cheeks, and humiliation washed over me with suffocating force. I wanted to look away. I wanted the concrete beneath my feet to split open and swallow me whole. Instead, I found myself unable to tear my gaze from his.