Chapter 4 First Road Trip
Away Games
Professional hockey wasn't only about what happened inside an arena.
It was about airports before sunrise, buses that smelled faintly of coffee and hockey equipment, hotels that blurred together after a while, and endless miles separating one game from the next. Players often joked that they spent nearly as much time traveling as they did actually playing.
Mason had grown used to it years ago.
Suitcases stayed half packed throughout the season. Toiletries lived permanently inside travel bags. Phone chargers, spare skate laces, and noise-canceling headphones each had assigned places because forgetting even one of them could turn an easy road trip into an irritating one.
The Thunderhawks' first extended trip of the preseason covered three cities in six days.
Three games.
Hundreds of interviews.
Countless meetings.
Enough travel to remind everyone that the season had truly begun.
Mason zipped his travel bag closed before carrying it into the living room.
Noah was already standing near the front door wearing dark jeans, a Thunderhawks quarter-zip jacket, and a backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
"You actually packed before this morning," Mason said.
"I packed last night."
"I didn't know that was allowed."
"It saves panic."
"I prefer living dangerously."
"You say that because I remembered your passport."
Mason stopped walking.
"...Right."
Noah raised an eyebrow.
"You forgot, didn't you?"
"I was testing you."
"No, you weren't."
"I absolutely was."
"You left it on the kitchen counter."
Mason sighed dramatically before turning toward the hallway.
"I'll be right back."
As he disappeared into his bedroom, Noah couldn't hide his smile.
By the time Mason returned, passport finally tucked inside his backpack, Noah was holding two travel mugs filled with coffee.
"I figured you'd need this."
"I definitely do."
They locked the condo and headed toward the underground parking garage.
Outside the arena, the team bus waited beside the players' entrance.
Equipment managers loaded hockey bags beneath the coach while players greeted one another with sleepy waves and predictable complaints about early departures.
Tyler climbed aboard carrying an oversized pillow.
"You planning to hibernate?" Mason asked.
"I intend to sleep through at least one state."
"You snore."
"I recover loudly."
"You scare wildlife."
"I've accepted that."
Liam walked past carrying two paper bags from a nearby bakery.
"Breakfast?"
Mason asked hopefully.
"Not for you."
"That's rude."
"You had time."
"I overslept."
"You always oversleep."
Before Mason could defend himself, Noah quietly handed him a wrapped breakfast sandwich from his backpack.
"I made an extra."
Mason looked surprised.
"You made breakfast sandwiches?"
"I had leftover chicken."
"You planned this?"
"I know what you're like before coffee."
Tyler watched the exchange before grinning mischievously.
"I'm telling you..."
"No," Mason interrupted immediately.
"You haven't even heard me."
"I already know."
"You two are adorable."
Mason pointed toward the bus.
"Go bother someone else."
Tyler laughed all the way up the steps.
Inside, players naturally claimed their favorite seats.
Mason settled beside the window while Noah took the aisle.
Nobody questioned it anymore.
Somehow the arrangement had become as automatic as Noah driving them to practice.
The bus pulled away from the arena just after sunrise.
Conversation gradually faded as players slipped on headphones, watched movies, or closed their eyes for another hour of sleep.
Mason watched the city disappear beyond the window.
The farther they traveled, the quieter everything became.
Eventually Noah glanced sideways.
"You sleeping?"
"I never sleep on buses."
"You were asleep before we left the parking lot last season."
"I was resting."
"You were snoring."
"I absolutely was not."
Noah chuckled.
"I've got evidence."
"You recorded me?"
"No."
"Good."
"I considered it."
Mason shook his head.
"Our friendship is hanging by a thread."
"I'm devastated."
Several hours later, the team arrived at the airport.
Travel days always followed the same rhythm.
Equipment managers handled luggage.
Media staff coordinated interviews.
Players moved together through security like a small traveling city wearing matching jackets.
The Thunderhawks attracted attention wherever they went.
Children asked for autographs.
Parents politely requested photographs.
Airport employees wished them luck.
Mason never minded.
He remembered being twelve years old himself, waiting outside arenas hoping one of his favorite players might stop long enough to sign a puck.
As the team waited near their departure gate, a young boy cautiously approached carrying a miniature hockey stick.
"Mr. Carter?"
Mason looked up.
"Hey, buddy."
The boy's face lit up.
"Could you sign this?"
"Of course."
While Mason knelt to sign the stick, Noah stood nearby chatting with the boy's father about youth hockey programs.
By the time boarding began, the child walked away holding both an autograph and a huge smile.
"You always make time," Noah observed.
Mason shrugged.
"I remember what it felt like."
"You never seem rushed."
"They're only kids once."
Noah nodded quietly.
He liked that answer.
The flight passed uneventfully.
Several teammates played cards.
Others watched game film on tablets.
Coach Morrison occasionally wandered the aisle discussing systems with assistant coaches.
Mason spent part of the trip reviewing faceoff tendencies from their upcoming opponent before eventually giving up and looking toward Noah.
"What are you reading?"
Noah turned the tablet slightly.
"Our opponent's power-play entries."
"Already?"
"We play tomorrow."
"We're not even there yet."
"I like being prepared."
"You know..."
Mason smiled.
"...you're making the rest of us look lazy."
"I thought that was your job."
"I've been replaced."
By early afternoon, the team landed in Minneapolis.
A charter bus carried them directly to the downtown arena where a short media session had already been scheduled before evening practice.
The moment they stepped inside, cameras flashed.
Microphones appeared.
Reporters called out familiar names.
Mason barely had time to set down his travel bag before a team media coordinator guided him toward the interview backdrop.
Questions came exactly as expected.
How was training camp?
How did the new rookies look?
What were expectations for the season?
Could the Thunderhawks contend for another championship?
Mason answered patiently.
"We're building chemistry every day."
"The younger guys have brought great energy."
"We're focused on improving one practice at a time."
Across the room, Noah handled his own interviews with the same calm professionalism he brought to everything else.
Watching him answer difficult questions without ever sounding rehearsed made it seem effortless.
He listened carefully before responding.
He smiled naturally.
He never rushed.
It was another thing Mason admired about him.
After nearly an hour of interviews, the team finally boarded another bus for the hotel.
By then everyone looked exhausted.
Liam had fallen asleep before the engine even started.
Tyler wore headphones and a sleep mask despite sitting upright.
Coach Morrison quietly reviewed tomorrow's practice schedule near the front.
Mason leaned his head against the cool glass of the window.
"This day feels twice as long as it actually is."
Noah stretched his shoulders.
"Road trips usually do."
"I forgot how much waiting there is."
"Airports are basically professional waiting rooms."
"They should put that on the welcome signs."
The hotel appeared only a few minutes later.
It overlooked the river, its glass exterior reflecting the late afternoon sun.
Bellhops quickly unloaded luggage while players wandered into the spacious lobby.
Everything appeared routine.
Until the front desk manager's expression changed.
She whispered something to another employee before looking nervously toward Coach Morrison.
The coach walked over.
Mason watched the conversation from across the lobby.
The manager looked increasingly apologetic.
Coach Morrison rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Finally, the coach clapped his hands to gather everyone's attention.
"We've got a small problem."
Tyler sighed dramatically.
"I knew somebody forgot to book us."
"The hotel experienced an unexpected issue with several rooms."
Coach Morrison glanced toward the front desk before continuing.
"There's been an overbooking situation after another sports conference extended its stay."
Groans echoed through the lobby.
"So what's the solution?" Liam asked.
"The hotel has enough rooms."
Coach Morrison hesitated.
"Just...not enough double queens."
Mason frowned.
"What does that mean?"
The coach checked the revised room assignments handed to him.
"It means a few of you are getting upgraded."
"Upgraded?" Tyler asked hopefully.
Coach Morrison looked directly at Mason and Noah.
"Carter."
"Hayes."
Both looked up.
"You two have Suite Twelve-Seventeen."
Mason reached for the key packet the hotel employee handed him.
He glanced down.
Then looked again.
The room description read only three words.
One King Suite.
He slowly raised his eyes toward Noah.
Noah had already read the same words.
For the first time since becoming roommates, the calm defenseman looked genuinely surprised.
Sleepless Night
Noah had shared hotel rooms with teammates for most of his professional career.
Training camps.
Road trips.
International tournaments.
He had learned long ago that every player had strange habits away from the rink.
Some needed complete silence before sleeping.
Others insisted on leaving televisions running through the night.
Tyler snored loud enough to shake hotel walls, while Liam somehow managed to unpack an entire suitcase into every available drawer despite staying only one night.
Sharing a room rarely surprised Noah anymore.
Sharing one bed was another matter.
He glanced down at the room assignment one more time before looking toward the hotel receptionist.