Four days into Mason's suspension, the training room felt like a loaded spring.
Players slammed sticks harder against the boards. Tempers snapped over missed passes. Mason was allowed in the facility for meetings and conditioning, but not on the ice while the conduct office reviewed the parking-lot footage.
I was organizing tape when Luca Bennett sat on the edge of my treatment table and held out his left wrist.
"Old fracture," he said. "It aches when the weather drops. Dr. Harper said you could prep it before she checks the tape job."
"Rotate toward the ceiling."
I pressed lightly along the joint.
Luca pushed his gray sleeve farther up his forearm.
A frayed red-and-black braided thread circled his wrist.
My hand stopped.
"Where did you get that?"
He looked down at the faded string, then back at me.
"Harborview youth sports clinic. Five years ago."
My stomach tightened.
I had volunteered there during high school because I needed service hours for a college program. Most of my job had been carrying ice, wiping tables, and sitting with scared teenagers while licensed staff handled the actual medicine.
"Why would you keep a piece of string for five years?"
Luca's mouth shifted into something almost like a smile.
"Because I was sixteen and convinced my life was over. I had a fractured collarbone and a surgeon telling me contact sports might be off the table for a long time. A volunteer sat beside me while I waited for my parents. She took the bracelet off her own wrist and tied it on mine."
The memory arrived all at once.
A skinny boy in a torn tournament jersey. White face. Wet eyes he refused to wipe because there were other athletes around. Me talking too much because silence made him shake harder.
"I told you bones heal stronger where they remodel," I whispered.
"You also told me one doctor saying 'maybe' wasn't the same as the universe saying 'never.'"
I stared at him.
"That was you."
"I recognized you the first day."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you didn't remember me. I didn't want to walk in here acting like one afternoon made me important to you."
The honesty knocked something loose in my chest.
Then the second memory caught up.
Two years ago, Jace had been injured in the playoff game against North Ridge.
Luca had delivered the legal check.
Jace's knee had twisted under him on the fall. MCL. Meniscus. Ten months of rehab. A lost national semifinal. A grudge that had survived every replay proving the hit was clean.
The boy I had talked out of quitting hockey was the player my brother blamed for the worst year of his career.
"You transferred here knowing Jace was on the roster."
"I transferred because Westlake had the best development program available after North Ridge cut my scholarship."
"And me?"
Luca held my gaze.
"I knew you were here after I signed. I won't pretend it didn't matter."
"Touching reunion."
Cole stood in the aisle with a resistance band in one hand.
His tone could have frozen boiling water.
Luca's expression closed.
"Need the table, Captain?"
"Dr. Harper said active recovery only until lunch. Your wrist can wait."
"Dr. Harper told me to be here."
"Then I guess I'm wrong."
Cole's jaw said he hated every word of that sentence.
I folded my arms.
"Are you two going to make me referee whatever this is?"
"No," Luca said.
"No," Cole echoed.
Neither sounded convincing.
Avery appeared in the doorway carrying two coffees and a clipboard.
"Cole, our sponsor lunch is in twenty minutes."
Cole looked at me instead of her.
"Push it."
Avery's eyebrows rose.
"The restaurant won't hold the reservation."
"Then cancel it. I need to finish rehab."
She glanced between Cole, Luca, and me.
Something knowing passed over her face.
"Fine. You owe me tacos."
She handed the second coffee to Jace on her way out.
No drama. No territorial glare. Just a woman who clearly had a life inside this team long before I arrived.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn't.
Friday morning, snow battered the windshield of the team bus.
Mason, still suspended from the weekend game but required to travel for team meetings, kicked his boots off the aisle seat.
"Saved you a spot, Doc."
Before I answered, Luca tossed me a black fleece hoodie.
"Heater in the back is broken."
Jace snatched it from my hands.
"She has a coat."
"Give it back," I said.
"Sit up front with staff."
Cole stepped onto the bus behind us.
"She can sit where she wants."
Jace turned. "Stay out of this."
"You're blocking the aisle and holding her sweatshirt hostage. It became team business."
I took the hoodie from Jace, walked past Mason's empty seat, passed Luca, and kept going to the last row.
I sat by the window alone.
Three heads turned toward me.
I smiled sweetly.
"Problem?"
All three looked away.
Four hours later, the bus hit black ice.
The rear end slid sideways before the driver corrected it. Every conversation died.
State police closed the mountain pass ahead and directed traffic toward the nearest exit.
The only hotel in town had already taken two stranded college buses.
Thirty Westlake players and staff crowded the lobby while Coach Miller argued with the desk clerk.
"I need fifteen rooms."
"Then you need another town," the clerk said. "I've got two suites left. That's it."
Coach Miller looked at the roster sheet.
One suite had two bedrooms and a pullout sofa. The other had one private bedroom and a large living area.
"Staff and injured players split by capacity," he said. "Nobody wanders. Nobody leaves until state police reopen the road."
He started reading assignments.
Jace went to Suite 210 with the injured-reserve group and two assistant coaches.
Then Coach Miller looked at the second keycard.
"Suite 114. Sloane gets the locking bedroom. Cole, Mason, Luca take the common room."
Jace's head snapped up.
Cole looked directly at me.
Outside, the highway closure sign flashed red through the snow.
There was nowhere else to go.
