Two simple words. No cameras. No performance. Just genuine concern.
It hits embarrassingly hard. “Fine.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. Right. She’s already learned my tells. Annoying.
“Agent?” She guesses quietly.
I stare at her. “How did you know that?”
“You get the same expression I get when suppliers raise butter prices.”
“That’s disturbingly specific.”
“It’s also correct.”
Unfortunately, true.
Jillie looks between us curiously. “Are you having grown-up stress?”
“Yes,” Sadie and I say together.
Jillie sighs heavily. “That’s contagious around here.”
I laugh despite myself. And there it is again. That impossible feeling.
Ease.
Later that afternoon I drive to Frostholm for meetings. The city rises cold and silver beyond the highway, all sharp buildings and heavy traffic and giant digital billboards flashing advertisements across winter skies.
Months ago, this skyline felt electric. Now it mostly feels loud.
The Frostholm Arena parking garage smells like concrete, exhaust, and old ice. Familiar. Corporate. Controlled.
Not home.
That realization unsettles me immediately. Inside the locker room, the guys are already waiting. Toby lounges dramatically across a bench eating protein bars like he’s preparing for hibernation.
Liam scrolls social media with dangerous focus. Jamie sits quietly taping his stick for practice.
The second I walk in, Toby points accusingly.
“HE ARRIVES.”
“Please stop yelling.”
“You’re emotionally different now.”
“I regret speaking to any of you.”
Liam grins. “Too late. We’ve all seen the school concert photos.”
I freeze briefly. “There were photos?”
Jamie looks up dryly. “Colby. There are always photos.”
Right. Forgot.
Toby shakes his head dramatically. “Tiny chairs changed him.”
