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“It was your idea,” he pointed out.

“So it was,” Coach mused. “All right, you chuckleheads. No curfew tonight!”

There was a chorus of whoops and loud whistles, punctuated by a handful of “fuck yeah!”s and a lone “that’s what I’m talking about.”

Coach eventually held up a hand, his gaze landing sharply on the most likely troublemakers. “Just don’t make me regret it. Keep your heads on straight, stay off social media, and be on the bus by nine tomorrow morning—no exceptions.”

When I was finished getting dressed, I approached the doorway to the visiting coach’s office, where Coach was chatting with Clive about tomorrow’s flight.

“Hey, Coach? Got a second??

Hendricks looked up at me over the rim of his glasses. “What’s up, Porter?”

I leaned against the jamb, my eyes darting toward the main room and then back to him. “I was wondering if it’d be okay for Cally and me to skip the hotel altogether tonight? I grew up about twenty minutes from here, and I’d love to get in a quick visit with my mom and grandma. I promise we’ll make it back in time.”

Coach stared at me for a long beat, then he let out a dry, amused-sounding huff. “Sure, why not. But if you or Callahan are even one minute late, that’ll be the last time I give either of you an inch of leeway. Clear?”

“Crystal, Coach. Thanks.” I was pretty sure my resulting smile could have powered a small city.

I grinned the entire way to Cally’s stall, where he was shrugging into a crisp black button-up, the hickey I’d left on his chest disappearing as he buttoned it up.

The first time I’d left a mark on him, Corbs had made some stupid comment about his girl being a fucking Hoover. Cally had stared him down for five uncomfortable seconds before telling him to fuck off and mind his own business. Surprisingly, everyone had since then.

“Hey,” I said, leaning against the partition. “I talked to Coach, and I’m gonna stay at my mom’s house tonight. He said you can join me.”

Cally’s hands stilled on his buttons, and he glanced up, his eyes moving over my face. “You asked Coach if it was okay if I stayed the night with you at your mom’s house with you?”

I clamped my hand to the back of my neck. Hearing it repeated back like that? Coach had to have thought it was a weird request.

“Yes?”

“Is that a question or an answer?”

I dropped my hand down, blowing out a breath. “An answer.”

I watched Cally’s big, beautiful brain work through this. These days, he was infinitely more relaxed about … well, just about everything. But he still needed routine, and going from a generic, predictable corporate hotel that was pretty much the same no matter what city you were in to sleeping in the house I’d grown up in was anything but routine.

And that wasn’t even taking the whole “meeting the family” of it all into consideration.

He gave me a soft smile. “Okay, that sounds great.”

“Right?” I asked, bouncing on my toes like a little boy who was about to go down for Christmas morning. “You’re gonna love my mom, and my Grandma is gonna love you, and⁠—”

Cally finished buttoning his shirt. “You don’t have to sell me on it, Mikey. I’m in.”

“And you’re not freaking out?”

He shook his head, turning to grab his fancy watch from his stall and fastening it around his wrist. “Nope.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Hunter Callahan?” I snarked, flicking him in the chest.

He batted my hand away. “Go away, Pest.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in the back of an Uber navigating the slushy, dark streets of Minneapolis.

My phone dinged with a series of new incoming messages. Most of my friends were die-hard Walleye fans so they were bitching about the loss, while also demanding I get my ass to the bar so they could celebrate my goal.

I felt Cally’s eyes on the screen, so I turned it toward him so he could see the wall of messages.