“Ava?” Emerson’s voice pulls me back to the office. “You want to grab a quick lunch?”
I look up at her, the fierce young woman who refuses to shrink herself for anyone, and I could not be prouder to call her a friend.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’m starving.”
As we head out, my thoughts are spinning.
I need to do something about Banks. I just don’t know what yet.
30
KNOX
The locker room feels…off.
I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is though. Maybe it’s the way Bouchard—who’s a pro juggler—keeps dropping his balls. Or maybe it’s because Cunningham, the most laid-back guy on the team, just snapped at Mac for accidentally tripping over his gear.
Or maybe it’s the empty stall where Davis should be.
“Where the hell is he?” Coach barks into his phone. Tension radiates from him in waves as he paces near the door, face flushed, jaw tight. “I don’t care if you have to put out a BOLO, just find him and tell him to get his ass to the arena.”
He ends the call and stuffs the phone into his pocket.
“Davis is a scratch,” he announces, voice clipped. “Lindy, you’re taking his spot on the fourth line.”
Lindholm nods, face stoic. Normally he’d be thrilled to make the lineup, but not tonight. Not like this.
Something’s wrong, and every guy in this locker room knows it.
We’re pros. We don’t just skip games. Even if Davis is sick, he wouldn’t just go radio silent.
Coach storms out, muttering about last-minute lineup changes and the goddamn league rules, leaving us in a silence so thick I could cut it with my skate blade.
I glance around the room, doing a pulse check. Hardy’s staring at the ceiling as if it holds the secrets to the universe, and Patterson’s lacing his skates up for the third time. Even McGinnis, who never shuts up, is quiet.
My gut hardens. If we carry this energy onto the ice, we’re fucked.
D-Vo nudges my arm and jerks his chin toward the door. I follow him into the hall, grateful for the excuse to move.
The second we’re alone, he turns to me, hands braced on his hips. “Do you know what’s going on with Davis?”
“No.” The word is bitter on my tongue. “You?”
He shakes his head. “Dude’s been quiet the last few weeks, but I figured he was just…I don’t know. Going through something.”
Guilt slams into me like a pissed off D-man.
Davishasbeen quiet. Withdrawn. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time he was active in the group chat.
I was so wrapped up in my own shit—sneaking around with Ava, hiding from Coach, obsessing over every stolen moment—that I didn’t think too much about it.
That was a mistake.
A big fucking mistake, the kind a team captain can’t afford to make.
“Dammit.” I scrub a hand over my face, wishing I could go back in time.
“Hey.” D-Vo claps me on the shoulder. “This isn’t your fault. You can’t fix whatever’s going on with Davis, but you can rally the team. They need you, Cap.”