“They were physically threatening.”
“You smiled in public.”
“That has happened before.”
“Not with your eyes.”
I hate that apparently everyone notices that now.
Liam tosses his phone onto the bench. “Internet loves you again, by the way.”
“Fantastic.”
“No, seriously. You went from emotionally unavailable hockey villain to small-town family man in under a week.”
“Congratulations,” Toby says solemnly. “You’ve become Pinterest.”
I drop into my locker chair with a groan.
Jamie studies me quietly for a moment.
Then: “Marcus called?”
Of course, he already knows.
Agents and team captains apparently operate through telepathy.
“Yeah.”
The room shifts slightly. Even Toby stops joking. Liam whistles softly. “The Vipers thing is real?”
I glance up sharply. “How does everybody know everything?”
“Because hockey is gossip with skates,” Toby says.
Accurate.
Jamie leans back against his locker thoughtfully. “It could be good for you.”
There’s no judgment in his voice, just honesty.
“Fresh start,” Liam agrees. “Bigger market. Bigger endorsements. Bigger attention. Your reputation would reset overnight.”
Months ago, those words would’ve sounded like oxygen. Now they just sound exhausting.
Toby watches me carefully.
Then: “You don’t sound excited.”
The room goes quiet, because apparently Toby Donovan occasionally develops emotional intelligence by accident.
I exhale slowly.
“I don’t know.”
Jamie’s gaze sharpens slightly. That answer means more than if I’d said no, because everybody in this room remembers how badly I wanted out six months ago.
How angry I was.
