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“Twisty noodles. Obviously.”

“Good answer.”

With the meeting adjourned, Nolan took the elevator down to the arena level where Eli, DeShawn, Deeley, and Sandbaker had a combined session with the team’s skating coach, but seeing as Nolan’s meeting had gone long, he half expected Eli to have gotten a ride home with one of the other guys. There was no text saying as much on Nolan’s phone, though, so maybe Eli was hanging around somewhere for him.

Nolan found him in the kitchen. He stood at the end of the long island, bent at the waist. Arms on the counter, he made a football goalpost—tips of his thumbs touching, index fingers up. “Let’s see what you got,” he said to Deeley.

“Dee-ley, Dee-ley, Dee-ley,” Sandbaker and DeShawn chanted.

At the other end of the counter, Deeley flicked a folded triangle of paper across the island. It flew over Eli’s makeshift goalpost and hit him in the nose.

The guys howled with laughter. Nolan couldn’t help but join them.

When Nolan had first arrived in Vermont, the Trailblazers had been second in their division. But they’d struggled in the new year. Zanetti had been out for a couple of weeks with a lower back injury. A forward had been uncommonly traded mid-season—the opportunity to join a team that was closer to his family had come up, and he’d jumped on it. Prinnie had taken unprecedented time off for mental health reasons. And combined with general fatigue as the season wore on, the Trailblazers had slipped to fourth in the rankings. Now they were trying to claw their way to a wild-card playoff spot.

But Eli? Without all the extra activities on his plate, he had more time to devote to hockey. He’d taken his Sociology of Sport exam in December, and he’d opted not to take a different class during the winter session, just to give himself time to get his game back on track—although he was planning on registering for Professor Waugh’s Narrative Identity and Human Relationships course next fall.

And the reduction in activities had worked. With the additional coaching, Eli’s stats were up. He was seeing more ice time. He was better able to stay present during a game instead of thinking ten steps ahead.

The best part? He was having fun again. Nolan could see it in the way he played and also in the way he was excited for upcoming games instead of dreading what they might bring.

Nolan walked into the kitchen, and Eli glanced over at him with a grin that made Nolan want to melt.

“Hey,” Eli said. “There you are.”

Deeley’s next paper flick hit him in the temple.

Eli gave Nolan a can-you-believe-these-guys look and stood.

“Who’s winning?” Nolan asked.

“Deeley,” Sandbaker said with a long-suffering sigh.

Deeley flexed his muscles. “I am the undisputed champion of paper football.”

“A crowning achievement,” Nolan said.

“I know you meant that sarcastically, but I’m going to pretend you’re proud of me.”

Eli flicked the paper back at Deeley. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Later, man.”

“So?” Eli said when they were out in the hallway. “How’d the meeting go?”

“Good. Sorry it ran late.”

Eli shrugged that away. “I had a feeling it might. Did they like what you had to say?”

“More or less.” Nolan pushed open the door to the parking garage. He couldn’t tell Eli too much—technically, anything he’d discovered during his audit was confidential—so he said, “They did ask me to stay on for another year to help put my solutions into practical use.”

Eli’s expression brightened. “No shit. Nolan. That’s awesome. Guess you don’t need that recruiter after all, huh?”

The recruiter had been a backup plan. Someone to help Nolan find the right corporate job. A temporary measure until he got his own consultancy in place—preferably with clients so he could generate a sustainable income.

That backup plan wasn’t needed, it turned out.

“Guess I don’t,” he said, digging in his coat pocket for his keys. “How was your coaching session?”