Page 69 of Lose You Twice

Wren’s mouth moves into a small grin, like she knows exactly what I’m trying not to do.

Donnelly sighs. “Unless one of you plans to explain why towel organization suddenly requires this much eye contact, move.”

Wren looks down first, and I walk past her into the locker room, hating the loss of her attention more than I’ve got any right to.

Weston is already at his stall, which either means he developed discipline overnight or the world is ending. He has one sock on and one missing, and he’s staring into his bag like it betrayed him.

“Problem?” I ask.

“I had two socks.”

“That’s generally how socks work.”

“I now have one sock.”

Asher doesn’t look up. “That’s generally how you work.”

Weston points at him. “Not helpful.”

Grayson walks in behind me, backpack over one shoulder. He takes one look at Weston, then one at me.

“You look awful,” he says.

Weston gasps. “I’m missing a sock, and you choose to be rude?”

“I was talking about Kai.”

“Ah, carry on then.”

I drop my bag in my stall. “I’m fine.”

I’m actually anything but fine, and I have no right to be. She’s here, in my space, in my dreams, engraved in my soul, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Grayson waits, and when I don’t elaborate, he asks, “Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Weston pulls his missing sock out of his skate and holds it up. “Found it.”

Coach walks in before Weston can turn the sock into a speech. “Let’s move. On the ice in five.”

Good. I need practice.

I need my legs burning and my lungs tight. I need a puck on my stick and something to burn some of this extra energy out of my system.

Practice is fast.

The first drills help. Edge work. Breakouts. Transition. A hard forecheck sequence that forces Weston to stop talking for almost six full minutes, which is probably worth documenting.

Then I see Wren through the glass.

She’s still training with Donnelly, walking from the laundry area back toward the locker room, holding practice jerseys. She isn’t watching me at first. She’s listening to him point at the clipboard, then her eyes lift and find mine.

My stick is on the ice, the puck is coming my way. I know where Grayson is. I know Weston is drifting too high because Weston believes positions are suggestions when he’s bored.

I know all of it.