As I drew closer, I glanced through the front windows.
Every screen seemed to be showing the same broadcast. The sound didn't carry through the glass, but it was obvious something significant was happening. Every eye remained fixed on the television’s overhead.
I slowed. Then stopped. My gaze caught on one of the screens. A man sat behind a long table beneath the Seattle Orcas logo. Dark suit. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw.
For a second, my brain refused to make sense of what I was seeing. Then recognition hit. Thane. The breath caught somewhere in my chest.
I stared through the glass, trying to reconcile the man on the screen with the man I'd spent the previous night with. The contrast was startling. Last night, he'd looked relaxed, warm, and approachable. The man on the television looked composedand professional, but there was something else there, too. Something I couldn't quite name. Tension. Maybe even fear.
The same uneasy expression flashed through my mind then. The moment when Thane had glanced toward the bar and looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else. At the time, I'd let it go. Standing on the sidewalk now, I wondered if this was why.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The atmosphere caught me off guard. The bar wasn't silent, but it was quieter than I expected. Conversations lingered in low murmurs. Drinks sat untouched on tables. Even the bartenders seemed more interested in the televisions than in the customers.
It felt as though the entire room was waiting.
A reporter stood outside what looked like an arena, speaking directly into the camera.
"...less than ten minutes before the scheduled start of today's press conference. The Seattle Orcas organization has remained extremely tight-lipped about the purpose of the announcement, and as a result, rumors have been circulating throughout the league since early this morning."
The camera shifted briefly to a crowd gathered behind security barriers. Some people held signs. Others wore team jerseys. Several reporters stood shoulder to shoulder, clutching microphones and speaking into cameras while other people hurried around them carrying equipment and wearing headsets.
I frowned.
What kind of press conference attracted this much attention? Apparently, I wasn't the only one wondering.
"Trade announcement?" somebody near the bar asked.
"No way," another man replied immediately. "You don't call a press conference like this for a trade."
"Retirement?"
The second man snorted. "At twenty-nine? Not happening."
A woman seated nearby shook her head. "My money's on a contract extension."
The conversation continued around me, theories flying from every corner of the room.
Meanwhile, I couldn't stop staring at the screen.
At Thane.
Whatever announcement he was about to make, one thing had become painfully obvious. Thane wasn't merely successful. He wasn't just some athlete who played a sport I'd never bothered paying attention to. The entire city seemed to be holding its breath for whatever he was about to say.
I found a spot near the back of the bar and kept my eyes on the nearest television.
The room quieted when Thane adjusted the microphone. When he finally spoke, the room fell completely silent.
"Thank you all for being here today." He looked down briefly before lifting his gaze toward the crowd.
"For most of my career, hockey has been the most important thing in my life. It's given me opportunities I never imagined I'd have. It introduced me to incredible teammates, coaches, fans, and friends. Everything I have today exists because of this game."
Thane took another breath. Then another.
And suddenly I understood that whatever announcement people were expecting, this wasn't easy for him. This wasn't a publicity stunt. It wasn't a contract negotiation. It wasn't some carefully manufactured piece of sports drama. The man on that screen was scared.
And for reasons I couldn't fully explain, I found myself rooting for him to get through whatever came next.
SEVEN
