Chapter 2 Shared Roof
Moving Day
The condominium building overlooked the river that cut through the heart of the city, its glass balconies reflecting the late afternoon sun.
It was quieter than Mason expected, tucked away on a tree-lined street just far enough from downtown to escape the constant traffic but close enough that the arena was only a short drive away.
The lobby smelled faintly of polished wood and fresh coffee, and a friendly concierge greeted them with practiced enthusiasm before handing Noah a welcome packet.
"This is nicer than I imagined," Mason admitted as they stepped into the elevator.
"I thought professional athletes were supposed to complain about luxury," Noah replied.
"I complain about things that deserve it."
"So...everything?"
"Pretty much."
Noah chuckled as the elevator doors slid open onto the fourth floor.
Apartment 4B sat at the end of the hallway. Noah unlocked the door with one of the key cards and stepped aside.
"You first."
Mason walked inside, immediately taking in the space.
The condo was larger than he'd expected.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the river, allowing natural light to flood the open living room.
A comfortable gray sectional sofa faced a large television already mounted on the wall.
The kitchen featured sleek black countertops, stainless steel appliances, and an island large enough for four people to sit around comfortably.
The place felt lived in without feeling personal.
Someone had stocked the refrigerator, arranged fresh towels in both bathrooms, and even left a welcome basket containing coffee, snacks, and basic household supplies.
"The organization definitely didn't cheap out," Mason said.
"They're probably hoping we don't destroy the place."
"They clearly haven't met Tyler."
"Nobody survives living with Tyler."
Mason laughed as he rolled his suitcase toward the hallway.
Two bedrooms branched off opposite ends of the condo, each with its own bathroom. It wasn't difficult to see why management had chosen this unit. Both players would have enough privacy to avoid feeling crowded while still sharing the common areas.
"I'll take whichever room you don't want," Mason offered.
Noah looked down the hallway.
"They're practically identical."
"So?"
"You choose."
Mason shrugged.
"I don't care."
"You really don't?"
"They both have beds."
"Fair point."
Mason wandered into the room on the left. It overlooked the parking lot instead of the river, but otherwise it matched the other bedroom perfectly.
"I'll take this one."
"Works for me."
Noah disappeared into the second bedroom without another word.
For the next twenty minutes, the condo echoed with the sounds of zippers opening, drawers sliding shut, and hockey equipment being unpacked.
Mason tossed clothes into dresser drawers with little concern for organization. T-shirts landed wherever there was space. Jeans shared shelves with hoodies. Socks and workout gear disappeared into the same drawer without much thought.
Across the hallway, Noah worked with quiet efficiency.
Every shirt was folded.
Every pair of shoes lined up neatly beneath the closet.
His suits were arranged by color.
Even his hockey sticks leaned against the wall in perfectly straight rows.
Mason leaned against the doorway.
"You always unpack like you're opening a department store?"
Noah looked up from arranging books on a shelf.
"I like knowing where everything is."
"I usually figure it out later."
"I noticed."
Mason looked down.
"What does that mean?"
"You've already lost one shoe."
"I have not."
"You walked in wearing two."
Mason glanced around his room.
One sneaker sat beside the bed.
The other had somehow disappeared.
He sighed dramatically.
"I hate when you're right."
"I'll try not to make a habit of it."
After a few minutes of searching, Mason found the missing shoe buried beneath his hockey bag.
He held it up triumphantly.
"See? Problem solved."
"You solved the mystery of your own shoe."
"Still counts."
"It really doesn't."
Mason grinned.
"You know, you're surprisingly judgmental."
"I haven't judged you."
"You just watched me lose a shoe."
"I observed."
"That's just judging with nicer vocabulary."
Noah laughed.
"I'll remember that."
The afternoon settled into a comfortable rhythm as they unpacked the rest of their belongings.
Boxes emptied.
Closets filled.
Bathrooms slowly transformed into personal spaces.
When Mason carried his final bag into the kitchen, he stopped abruptly.
"No."
Noah looked up from placing dishes into cabinets.
"What?"
"You alphabetized the spices."
"They came that way."
"You left them that way."
"I did."
Mason opened a cabinet.
Every plate had been stacked neatly.
Glasses sat arranged by size.
Coffee mugs hung perfectly from hooks beneath another shelf.
"You've been in here five minutes."
"I unpack quickly."
"This is unsettling."
"You'll adjust."
"I don't know if I can."
"You survived losing your shoe."
"That was traumatic."
Noah smiled without looking away from the cabinet he was organizing.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Mason opened the refrigerator next.
Rows of groceries already filled the shelves.
Milk.
Eggs.
Fresh vegetables.
Chicken.
Fruit.
Everything had been grouped together with almost suspicious precision.
He moved a carton of orange juice slightly to make room for bottled water.
A moment later, Noah quietly slid it back into place.
Mason stared.
"You just fixed the juice."
"It fits better there."
"It fit where I put it."
"Technically."
"There are technical refrigerator rules?"
"There are if you want to find things."
"I usually just...look."
"Which explains a lot."
Mason laughed.
"You've definitely done this before."
"My mother believed kitchens should be organized."
"And you listened."
"I like cooking."
"I can make grilled cheese."
"Congratulations."
"I once made spaghetti."
"Without burning it?"
"...mostly."
Noah raised an eyebrow.
"I'll be handling dinner."
"I figured."
As the afternoon wore on, they turned their attention toward the living room.
Several flat-packed boxes leaned against one wall.
Coffee table.
Bookshelves.
Entertainment cabinet.
Apparently the organization had purchased new furniture that still needed assembling.
Mason rubbed his hands together.
"Now this is something I actually know how to do."
"You enjoy building furniture?"
"I grew up helping my dad renovate everything ourselves."
"Useful skill."
"I've got plenty of those."
"I'll believe it when I see them."
Mason pretended to look offended.
"You wound me."
"I'm sure you'll recover."
Within minutes, Mason spread hardware across the floor while Noah carefully unfolded instruction manuals.
"I don't need those."
"Everyone says that."
"I've built hundreds of things."
"So have people who end up with leftover screws."
"I never have leftovers."
Noah silently held up two identical metal brackets.
"Which side goes where?"
Mason studied them.
"...give me a second."
"I thought you didn't need instructions."
"I don't."
"You've been staring at those brackets for a full minute."
"They're poorly designed."
"They're labeled."
Mason turned one over.
A tiny sticker marked it with the letter L.
He sighed.
"I hate instruction manuals."
"I know."
"You enjoying this?"
"A little."
By early evening, the entertainment cabinet stood perfectly assembled.
The coffee table no longer existed as dozens of scattered pieces.
Bookshelves lined one wall.
Not a single screw remained unused.
Mason leaned back against the sofa, satisfied.
"There."
"You actually know what you're doing."
"I told you."
"I'll admit I doubted you."
"You doubted everything."
"I did."
They exchanged amused smiles before Noah glanced toward the kitchen clock.
"It's almost seven."
"So?"
"I'm hungry."
"I've got protein bars."
"I'm making actual food."
Mason looked interested.
"What kind?"
Noah walked toward the refrigerator.
"My grandmother's lemon herb chicken."
"You cook family recipes?"
"Most of them."
"I thought professional athletes survived entirely on takeout."
"No wonder you looked impressed by organized spices."
Mason laughed.
"I suddenly feel judged again."
"You are."
As Noah began preparing ingredients, Mason remained in the living room tightening the final bolts on one of the bookshelves.
The rhythmic chopping of vegetables drifted from the kitchen.
Garlic sizzled softly in olive oil.
Fresh herbs filled the condo with a warm, comforting aroma that reminded Mason of childhood dinners long before hockey dominated every evening.
He glanced toward the kitchen.
Noah moved effortlessly between the stove and the cutting board, completely at ease.
For someone who played one of the toughest positions in professional hockey, he looked surprisingly relaxed while cooking.
"You make that look easy," Mason called.
"My grandmother would've disagreed."
"She teach you?"
"When I was twelve."
"You've been cooking that long?"
"Long enough to know protein bars aren't dinner."
Mason smiled to himself before returning to the bookshelf.
A strange sense of calm settled over the condo.
There was no television blaring.
No awkward silence.
No pressure to impress anyone.
Just the quiet sounds of someone cooking while another person finished assembling furniture.
It felt...comfortable.
Unexpectedly comfortable.
Mason couldn't remember the last time moving into a new place had felt this easy.
Maybe it was because there wasn't any pressure.
Maybe it was because Noah never tried to fill every silence with conversation.
Or maybe they simply fit together better than either of them had expected.
He immediately dismissed the thought.
It was only the first day.
Three months would probably feel much longer once real life settled in.
Still...
As the smell of dinner drifted through the condo and the last bookshelf finally stood upright, Mason found himself looking toward the kitchen again.
Watching Noah stir sauce while humming quietly beneath his breath.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the condo already felt a little less temporary.