Page 16

“The hotel you’re at has a kitchen?”

“I’m at one of the townhouses your organization owns for visiting stakeholders. Since technically I’m a visiting stakeholder.”

“How long are you here for, anyway? Is pressure-testing team culture a one-month thing or a six-month thing?”

“I’ve estimated three or four.”

Eli barely contained a grin. Four months to get this man to see him as something other than his ex’s little brother? It was a tad short for a soap opera arc, but he’d make it work.

“Oh.” Finally recognizing the stack of papers at Nolan’s elbow, Eli turned it toward him. “Freddie’s letters. What are you doing with these?”

They’d gone their separate ways after their time in the storage room—Eli home to nap before the game and Nolan up to Roman’s office—and Eli hadn’t noticed that Nolan had taken the letters with him.

“Trying to find Freddie,” Nolan replied. “Or Annie. I googled the Trailblazers roster from fifteen years ago, but there isn’t a single Freddie on it. No Wilfred or Frederic either.”

“But we knew that already, right? Because neither Cotton or Zanetti remembered a Freddie from back then.”

“No, I know, just . . . I want to give these back.” Nolan stabbed at the letters with one finger. “I didn’t want to let them sit in the storage room, and it felt wrong to throw them away. They’re . . . raw and honest and . . .” Sighing, Nolan passed one hand over his face. “I don’t know how to explain it. It just felt wrong. Could Freddie be a nickname?”

Eli shrugged. “Sure. But if it’s a hockey nickname, Cotton or Zanetti would’ve mentioned it. Maybe it was Annie’s nickname for him? And if that’s the case, you might not ever find him.”

“There has to be a way,” Nolan insisted. “I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“There you are.”

Eli looked toward the voice. Matty Coates strode toward him, long legs eating up the distance between them without colliding with any servers, Eli noticed pitifully.

“We thought you got lost on your way to the restroom,” Matty Coates said, holding out a hand to Nolan for a fist bump over Eli’s muttered, “Rude.”

“Good to see you again, man.”

“You too,” Nolan said.

Matty Coates jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Our food’s on its way out. You coming?”

Right. Eli’s birthday breakfast. Before he could debate with himself about inviting Nolan, Matty Coates said, “Join us. We’re having breakfast for Eli’s birthday.”

Nolan’s eyes went wide, the color reminding Eli of his favorite pair of dark-wash jeans. “I forgot your birthday’s on Halloween. I’ve already eaten though.”

“So?” Matty Coates closed Nolan’s laptop and picked it up. “Come hang out anyway. Bring whatever that is”—he waved at the letters—“and your coffee and let’s go. Besides, I’m sure the restaurant could use this table.”

He walked away, Nolan’s laptop clutched like a hostage.

Eli shrugged at Nolan. “Goalies,” he said by way of explanation.

Nolan laughed, stuffed the letters into a messenger bag he swung off the back of his chair, and followed him to the function room.

Nolan eyed the new line that was forming at the café’s entrance, a handful of customers waiting for a table. He’d only lingered as long as he had at his own table because the number of people in line had decreased, and he’d been so focused on his research that he hadn’t noticed when Eli or Matty Coates had walked in.

As he stepped into the function room behind Eli, he had to laugh. Apparently, he’d been oblivious to a dozen Trailblazers entering the building. When Matty Coates had said, “Come hang out,” he hadn’t expected to be dining with half the team. His father’s players had never shown interest in him in the past, so he was a little befuddled when almost every man greeted him with an up-nod or a wave.

It appeared to be a more or less even distribution between the younger guys and the older ones, although Nolan immediately noticed the divide—guys in their thirties occupying one half of the table, and guys in their twenties occupying the other. It had probably been subconscious based on preexisting cliques or friendship groups, but Nolan noted it for later.

There was Bellamy Jordan sitting across from Team Captain Kyle Dabbs, who was next to D-man Michael Hughes, who was next to Colter “CC” Clarke. Veteran players Sandro Zanetti and Owen Cotton rounded out that end of the table.

Between them and where Eli sat with some of the younger guys were a few players Nolan knew by name but hadn’t been introduced to yet.

There wasn’t an empty seat to be had as servers came in and out and deposited two to three plates in front of each player.