“You good?” I call.
“Fine,” he mutters.
“Because that was kinda rough.”
“Shut up.”
“Did something throw you off?”
“You don’t know anything,” he says, exasperated.
“I know a lot of things.”
He looks back over his shoulder at me.
The look hits harder than it should.
Not angry.
Warning.
And underneath it, something hot enough that my stride stutters for half a second before I correct it. I don’t think I’m imagining this anymore.
Thank god and also fuck.
The team starts filtering in twenty minutes later and the private quality of the morning disappears into the noise of everyone arriving. Bennett comes in first, loud, mid-sentence before he's even through the tunnel door.
"—literally did not go off, I'm telling you, something is wrong with my phone—"
"Your alarm definitely went off," I say.
"That's impossible."
"Ben."
"I'm just saying it didn't feel like it went off."
Cooper follows half a minute later, half-dressed, helmet under one arm, looking like a man who made several decisions after midnight and is only now beginning to understand the consequences.
"Okay so," he says, to nobody in particular, "I had this dream."
"No," Jamie says.
"Just hear me out—"
"I already know where this is going."
"I scored a hat trick." He holds up a hand. "Three goals. Back to back to back. In the dream I was incredible."
"Only in your dreams, Cooper."
"So I've already contributed today." He gestures at the ice. "I feel like practice for me should be optional."
"It's not optional."
"For spiritual reasons—"
Jamie doesn’t even look at him. “Gear on. Five minutes.”
