Page 225 of On His Team

I can hear movement in the room behind him, then what sounds like a drawer closing. “Who are you with?”

“Mackey.”

“Is he listening?”

“No.”

From farther away, Trent says, “I can hear you.”

I laugh.

Rowan says, “He says no.”

“I heard him.”

“Okay.”

There is a comfortable pause.

I lie back against my pillows. “You tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Wanted to call you first.”

That settles somewhere low in my chest. “Okay.” I smile. “Win tomorrow.”

“You’re funny, G.”

The wolves don’t win.

Saturday’s three-one loss changes Hawthorne in less than ten seconds.

The horn goes, and nobody talks.

The girls don’t panic or start dissecting what happened. Nobody reaches for the remote. We just sit there watching the handshake-less end of a game that now requires another one.

Sunday.

One game.

The Big Ten tournament does not necessarily end their entire season if they lose, but it feels like it could. Maybe that is what postseason hockey is: technically there are conditions and rankings and selection committees, but emotionally every game becomes the last one until somebody proves otherwise.

Lucy comes home with me that night. We sit at our kitchen table eating noodles because neither of us bothered buying real groceries.

She has been scrolling through her phone for several minutes before she says, “Do you think they’re okay?”

“Yes.”

She looks up. “You think?”

“Benson is probably already watching film.”

Her mouth pulls into a tired smile. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“And Rowan is probably pretending he’s not thinking about it.” That answer comes easier now too.