Page 26 of Top Shelf

Chase grins as I step onto the bench. “Somewhere in Sweden, a glacier just cracked.”

I breathe deep and drink water, but the noise still shakes through the boards beneath my skates. For a few seconds, everything is simple again. A one-goal lead. My work done correctly. But when I look up at the scoreboard, the vibration in my suit pocket returns inside my head. I grip my stick harder and look back to the ice.

The rest of the game is ugly, and with four minutes left in the third, Chase draws a penalty by refusing to fall until three men have committed crimes against him.

He comes to the bench grinning. “I suffered for the team.”

“You embellished,” Eli says.

“Useful,” Jake says, climbing over the boards for the power play.

We score nineteen seconds later, and win 3-2. It is not beautiful, but late-season wins do not need to be.

In the locker room after, the atmosphere is loose and tired. Someone throws a tape ball at Chase’s head, and Jake gets the game chain. Eli moves through the room with quiet captain checks, and Logan is already texting Lulu, smiling at his phone like a man who has forgotten Eli is only three feet away and armed with brotherly repulsion.

I sit at my stall and let the room move around me. For a little while, it is enough. Until I pull out my phone to nine new notifications.

Mamma. Freja. Lund. Anton.

Because I prefer bad news first, I open Lund's email. Anton has requested boundary documents, existing approvals, and notes about road access. He has asked whether preliminary planning conversations can begin before the Midsummer deadline if the transfer condition remains unmet.

I read the email standing half-dressed in the locker room while men laugh around me and equipment staff move bags toward the hall. Anton is not waiting to inherit Solvik, he is getting ready to change it. A text message from him sits in my notifications tab.

Anton: Viktor, I know this is difficult, but we should talk directly. There is a sustainable path here if we stop treating preservation and progress as enemies.

I want to throw my phone into a wall. Instead, I lock the screen and put it face down on the bench beside my bag.

“That bad?”

Chase stands a few feet away, half dressed, his tie hanging loose around his neck. Most of the room has emptied toward media, showers, and food. The noise that remains is scattered enough that my silence has somewhat become visible.

“No.” I say it too quickly, but Chase waits until I sigh through my nose. “Yes.”

The remnants of his smile leave his face, and he sits on the bench across from me. I look down at my phone, swallowing.

“My grandfather died,” I say.

“I’m sorry, Vik.”

“It was a few months ago now.”

“Still.”

I nod and press my thumb hard against the edge of my locker. “He left our family property, called Solvik, with conditions.”

“What kind of conditions?”

I almost laugh, because it is absurd, but Chase waits me out again. This is the problem with Chase Walton. He is loud, silly, and sometimes exhausting, but people make the mistake of thinking that is all he is. They miss the part where he notices when someone goes quiet, and the part where he sits in front of you and waits in silence until you're ready to speak. They miss the loyalty under all the bravado.

“They are ridiculous conditions.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No.”

“Cool. I’ll ignore that.”

I look at him, and he shrugs.