Page 15 of Trade It All

“You good, Mads?” he asks, leaning his shoulder against the frame like he has all the time in the world.

“I’m good,” I tell him, lifting my shoulder slightly.

He glances over his shoulder, then back at me, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Give us two minutes. Grady’s still walking around like clothing is optional.”

I laugh, the sound quieter than the noise around us but real enough to feel like it settles somewhere in my chest. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah,” he says dryly, “Lennon would disagree.” That makes me laugh a little more, and he nods like that was the goal before pushing back into the room. “Give me a minute.”

I nod and stay where I am. Waiting. It doesn’t take long.

The door opens again, and this time when Jake looks at me, he just tips his head toward the room. “Come on.”

The shift hits the second I step inside. It always does. The hallway feels like holding your breath. The locker room feels like finally letting it go.

Sound wraps around me immediately—music low but steady, voices layered over each other, the scrape of gear and the dull thud of something hitting the floor. It’s messy in a way that somehow still works, like every piece belongs exactly where it is even if it doesn’t look like it should.

Warm. Alive. I lift my camera almost without thinking, letting myself settle into the movement of it, into the way I know how to exist here.

“Maddie,” Luka calls, his voice cutting through the room with that same easy confidence he carries everywhere. “Careful. Media’s here.”

There’s a smile in his voice, even before I look at him.

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” I shoot back, angling the camera just enough to catch him leaning back against his locker in his pads like the whole place revolves around him.

He grins, like that’s exactly what he expects me to say. “I’m always professional.”

Jasper doesn’t even look up from where he’s taping his stick. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Luka replies, smooth as ever.

Grady laughs somewhere behind me, low and knowing. “Neither does whatever the hell that is.”

“Winning,” Luka says, like it’s obvious.

I shake my head, smiling without thinking about it, and let myself move through the room, capturing pieces of it instead of trying to control it.

That’s the thing about this part—it only works if it feels real. And this always does. I lower the camera for a second to adjust the angle—and when I do, Luka is closer. Not enough that anyone else would notice. Just enough that I do.

“You good?” he asks, quieter this time, the usual edge in his voice softened just enough to make it different.

I glance up at him, my fingers tightening slightly around the camera before I force them to relax. “I’m good.”

It comes out softer than I mean it to. His eyes stay on me for a second, like he’s deciding whether he believes me. Then one corner of his mouth lifts.

“Yeah?” he says, nudging his shoulder lightly into mine. “You look like you’re about to fire half the team.”

A breath of a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Relax,” he says easily, already shifting back into himself. “I’m still your favorite.”

The words are light. Teasing. Like they don’t carry anything underneath them. But they land anyway. Steady in a way I don’t question.

I shake my head, nudging him back. “Go finish getting dressed.”

He grins, the full version of it this time. “Yes, ma’am.”

I shake my head, lifting the camera again as Luka moves off, letting myself slip back into the rhythm of the room like it’s something I can disappear inside if I stay busy enough. That’s always been the easiest part of this job—the way movement fills the space where thoughts try to linger too long, the way noise gives me something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s shifting just out of reach. There’s always something to capture, something to adjust, something to focus on that isn’t whatever is sitting quietly under my skin.