Page 45 of Bro Code

He sounded annoyed. Fine — the feeling was mutual: the vibe had been perfect and now it was not. Riley went back to the pucks and tried to ignore him. He chipped a few more in as Louis got himself set up in the second row with all the various screens and cables and charging blocks sprawled into the seats around him like weird tentacles.

“You playing solitaire, or what?” Riley called.

“I’m setting up for the game,” Louis said, not looking up from the laptop. “Calibrating. Why do you care?”

Something was seriously up his ass today. Riley tried to ignore him and went back to the drill. When he’d finished with the shots on goal, he dragged the bucket back and took a single puck out to center to do breakaways. This was the real test: the thing he’d fucked up most in that game against Tampa. If he could nail these, he’d be in good shape.

Dropping the puck at the blue line, he turned his back, looped into the defensive zone, then whipped around, caught it on his stick, sprinted it down the wing, walked it in, and snapped it at the goal.

Perfect shot.

Panting, he circled the net and scooped it out and took it back down the ice.

By the time he’d finished ten passes, his lungs were raw and his legs were screaming. Every single shot had gone in. Every. Single. One. He bent double with his hands on his knees as he glided slowly around the rink, sweat dripping onto the ice, and prayed that that was it.

When he stepped into the tunnel to head to the locker room, Louis was waiting for him. He had a tablet in his hand, and held it up. “Perfect game.”

Riley frowned. “What?”

“Just now. Out there.” Louis angled his head at the ice, then pointed at the tablet. “And in here.”

Riley eyed the screen. A mess of Klingon he didn’t understand. “You were tracking me?”

“Uh huh.” Louis lowered the tablet and looked down at it as he swiped through the data. “And according to this–”

“I thought you said you were setting up for the game.”

“Oh.” Louis looked up. “Uh–”

“You lied.”

Frowning slightly, Louis touched a knuckle to the center of his glasses. “I guess? I didn’t want to throw you off. If you knew I was watching, you might have–”

“I didn’t say you could do that.” In his sacred fucking rink that he was using to break a six-week curse? Did Louis not understand how fragile that was? He needed immaculate fucking vibes in here.

He shouldered past him and went down the tunnel.

“Wait, are you — are you serious?” Louis called after him. Riley ignored him and heard him start to follow. “I don’t understand – you’re already wearing the data vest!”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think that meant you could just monitor me whenever you feel like! Did they tell you to do that?”

“No, I came down on my own.”

“So, what are you, just like, always tracking me now? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Will you just look!” Louis caught him by the arm. “The data is flawless. You just played perfectly.”

“Yeah, because I broke the curse.” Riley shook him off and kept going.

Louis groaned and trotted after him. “Curse? Please don’t tell me you actually believe that.”

Riley didn’t. Not usually. But he had to. Because if it wasn’t that, then tonight could still be fucked. The season could still be fucked. He could still be fucked. “It’s the building,” he muttered. “It’s a good barn.”

“It’s not the building!” said Louis. “It’s you!”

“I thought it was a labral tear. What happened to that?”

“Come on.” Louis caught his arm again. “It’s not an injury. You know it isn’t.”