Chapter 3 Morning Routines
Coffee Before Practice
The first thing Mason noticed wasn't the smell of coffee.
It was the silence.
Not the lonely silence that had filled his apartment after Emily moved out, where every empty room seemed to remind him of what was missing. This silence felt different. It was calm, almost comforting, carrying the quiet sounds of someone moving confidently through a familiar routine.
He rolled onto his back and squinted at the alarm clock on his nightstand.
Six fifteen.
Far too early for any reasonable human being to be awake voluntarily.
With a groan, he dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and shuffled toward the bathroom. After splashing cold water on his face, he followed the rich aroma drifting down the hallway.
The kitchen lights glowed softly against the early morning darkness outside the windows.
Noah stood at the counter wearing gray workout shorts and a black T-shirt, his back turned as he carefully poured freshly brewed coffee into two mugs. Toast browned quietly in the toaster while oatmeal simmered on the stove.
Mason leaned against the kitchen doorway, still half asleep.
"You realize normal people hit the snooze button."
Without turning around, Noah smiled.
"I've been awake for almost an hour."
"That sentence alone makes me tired."
"I figured you'd say that."
"You actually enjoy mornings?"
"I enjoy having enough time to wake up before practice."
"I enjoy pretending mornings don't exist."
Noah laughed softly before sliding one of the mugs across the counter.
"Cream. One spoon of sugar."
Mason blinked.
"You remembered?"
"You ordered it that way yesterday."
"That was one coffee."
"You seemed consistent."
Mason wrapped both hands around the warm mug.
"You're dangerously observant."
"I've been told."
He took a careful sip and sighed with relief.
"Okay...that's really good."
"The coffee or the fact that someone else made it?"
"Both."
"I thought so."
While Noah plated breakfast, Mason wandered toward the large windows overlooking the river.
The city was only beginning to wake. Streetlights still reflected across the water while the first hints of sunrise painted the eastern sky in shades of orange and gold.
He hadn't realized how much he'd missed quiet mornings.
Back when he lived alone, breakfast usually consisted of grabbing a protein bar on his way out the door or picking up something from a drive-through if he woke up late. Sitting down for an actual meal before practice had become so rare that it almost felt unfamiliar.
Noah placed two bowls of oatmeal on the island before adding fresh berries and sliced bananas.
"I hope you like fruit."
Mason looked down at the colorful breakfast.
"I suddenly feel guilty about every breakfast burrito I've ever eaten."
"You should."
"I was hoping you'd say they were balanced."
"They're balanced if you eat them while running."
"I knew there had to be a catch."
They settled onto opposite sides of the kitchen island.
For several minutes, the only sounds were quiet clinks of spoons against ceramic bowls and the occasional sip of coffee.
Unlike many people Mason knew, Noah didn't seem bothered by silence.
There was no pressure to fill every quiet moment with conversation.
It made breakfast surprisingly relaxing.
Eventually Mason glanced across the counter.
"So..."
"So?"
"You really cook every morning?"
"Most mornings."
"Even when nobody's watching?"
Noah looked amused.
"I wasn't aware breakfast required an audience."
"I just mean..."
Mason searched for the right words.
"It seems like a lot of effort."
"My grandmother always said the first meal decides how the rest of the day feels."
"Smart woman."
"Very."
Mason took another bite before nodding toward the refrigerator.
"I noticed you labeled the leftovers."
"I like knowing what's inside containers."
"I usually play refrigerator roulette."
"I can imagine."
"You'll have to teach me."
"Cooking?"
"Adulting."
Noah smiled.
"We'll start with cooking."
"Baby steps."
By the time breakfast ended, Mason felt more awake than he usually did halfway through morning practice.
As they gathered their gym bags, Noah tossed him a clean towel.
"You forgot yours."
Mason looked down.
He had.
"How did you know?"
"You left it hanging in the bathroom."
"I would've noticed."
"Probably after your shower."
"Details."
They rode the elevator down to the underground parking garage before walking across to the building's private fitness center.
The gym overlooked the river through massive windows, and despite the early hour, several residents were already exercising.
Mason immediately headed toward the squat rack.
"You lifting first?"
Noah nodded.
"Same program as yesterday."
"Race you."
"You realize warming up exists."
"I warm up while lifting."
"Your trainer would cry."
"He already does."
Their workouts followed different philosophies.
Mason preferred heavy weights and explosive movements that mirrored the physical demands of playing center.
Noah focused more on balance, mobility, and controlled strength, believing good technique mattered as much as raw power.
Somehow, despite their differences, they naturally ended up helping each other.
"You've got one more," Mason said as Noah struggled through the final repetition of a bench press.
"I don't."
"You do."
"No chance."
"I'm spotting."
With Mason's hands hovering just beneath the bar, Noah pushed through one final repetition before carefully racking the weight.
He sat up, breathing heavily.
"I officially dislike you."
"You'll thank me later."
"I won't."
"You absolutely will."
Later, when Mason attempted a new shoulder exercise, the roles reversed.
"Slow down," Noah said.
"I'm fine."
"Your elbow's drifting."
"It's supposed to."
"No, it isn't."
Mason completed another repetition before noticing the uncomfortable strain in his shoulder.
"...Okay."
"I'll demonstrate."
Watching Noah perform the movement with effortless control, Mason immediately understood the correction.
"Show-off."
"I've practiced."
"I hate practicing."
"You play professional hockey."
"I like practicing hockey."
They finished their workout laughing more than either expected.
Walking back through the parking garage toward Noah's SUV, Mason realized something.
He hadn't thought about Emily all morning.
The realization caught him off guard.
For months, every quiet moment eventually circled back to memories of the relationship that had ended.
Today, those thoughts never appeared.
Instead, he'd spent the morning talking about breakfast, weightlifting, and refrigerator organization.
Strangely...
It felt nice.
The drive to the arena passed quickly.
Traffic remained light, giving them plenty of time to joke about Tyler's habit of arriving exactly one minute before every meeting.
"I swear he calculates it."
"He absolutely does," Noah agreed.
"Coach is going to lose his mind one day."
"He already has."
"I mean completely."
"I'll buy popcorn."
The locker room buzzed with energy when they arrived.
Training camp intensity had only increased overnight.
Music blasted from speakers mounted near the ceiling while players stretched, taped sticks, and teased each other before practice.
Tyler looked up as Mason and Noah entered together.
"There they are."
Mason sighed.
"What now?"
"You two coordinate your arrival?"
"We drove together."
"Look at that."
"What?"
"You already sound domestic."
"We're commuting."
"Next you'll have matching lunchboxes."
Several players laughed.
Mason grabbed one of his gloves and tossed it toward Tyler.
It bounced harmlessly off the goalie's chest.
"You deserve that."
"I usually do."
Coach Morrison entered seconds later.
"Enough socializing."
Immediately, the room shifted into professional focus.
Within minutes everyone was back on the ice.
Today's practice emphasized transition hockey.
Defensemen needed to move the puck quickly.
Centers had to anticipate passing lanes before they fully developed.
The pace remained relentless.
During one drill, Noah recovered a loose puck near the blue line while two forecheckers closed in.
Without looking, he banked the puck behind the net.
Mason was already circling into position.
He collected it smoothly before accelerating through center ice.
One defender stepped up.
Mason slipped the puck across.
Noah joined the rush perfectly.
Back to Mason.
Shot.
Goal.
Coach Morrison blew his whistle.
"Again."
The second attempt looked even smoother.
Then the third.
Assistant Coach Riley folded his arms.
"That's exactly what we want."
Coach Morrison nodded.
"They're reading each other before the play develops."
"They barely need verbal communication."
"They trust the pass."
Practice continued.
Every drill reinforced the same observation.
Mason and Noah moved almost instinctively together.
When one adjusted position, the other reacted without hesitation.
It wasn't planned.
It simply happened.
Finally Coach Morrison gathered the team near center ice.
"Good work today."
He looked directly toward Mason and Noah.
"Carter."
"Hayes."
Both players skated forward.
"Whatever you two have been doing off the ice..."
He paused briefly.
"...keep doing it."
The coach glanced toward the rest of the team.
"That's the kind of chemistry championships are built on."
Mason exchanged a quick look with Noah.
Neither said anything.
But for reasons he couldn't quite explain, hearing those words filled him with an unexpected sense of pride.
Built on Trust
By the end of the first week, Noah noticed something changing.
It wasn't dramatic enough for anyone else to recognize, and Mason certainly didn't seem aware of it himself.
It revealed itself in little moments scattered throughout the day, almost too ordinary to matter.
Yet those ordinary moments slowly began weaving themselves into a routine neither of them had planned.
The first sign came on a Tuesday morning.
Noah was pulling his keys from the bowl near the front door when Mason emerged from his bedroom, still trying to shrug into a hoodie while balancing a protein shake in one hand.
"You leaving?" Mason asked.