11. Kai
KAI
The next day, the storm rolls in earlier than anticipated.
By the time the bus pulls over the pass, the sky is already dark, and rain hits the windows in hard, uneven bursts. The guys settle into their seats with snacks, headphones, pillows, and enough bad energy to make Coach threaten assigned silence before we even leave campus.
Wren sits near the front with Donnelly and the equipment bags, earbuds in, knees angled toward the aisle. She has a backpack at her feet, and her phone in both hands. Every so often, she looks down, types fast, then locks it and stares out the window like she’s forcing herself not to check again.
I sit four rows behind her with Grayson beside me and Weston across the aisle.
I can see the side of her face when the bus turns.
I wish I couldn’t.
“You’re doing it again,” Grayson says without looking up from his phone.
I turn my gaze toward him. “Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“I’m looking out the front window.”
He finally looks up, cracking a grin. “Through her head?”
Weston leans across the aisle. “Whose head?”
“No one’s,” I say.
He grins. Asher puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back into his seat before he can say anything else. “Leave it.”
Wren turns slightly at Weston’s voice, her eyes instantly finding mine. I don’t look away, and we stare at each other for a few seconds before she turns back to her phone.
By the time we reach the hotel, the rain has turned into sleet, and Coach is in the kind of mood that makes even Weston stay quiet. The lobby is packed with another college team, a delayed wedding party, and a front-desk clerk who looks ready to quit in real time.
Equipment gets unloaded first.
Donnelly directs while Wren checks bags off the list. I help because standing still while she hauls gear in sleet isn’t something I’m capable of doing, even with boundaries.
To her credit, she doesn’t yell at me.
Inside, Coach starts handing out key cards. Guys are grouped two to a room. Weston and Asher. Grayson with me. Coleson with one of the quieter defensemen, which should be fine unless Coleson decides being difficult is a personality again.
Donnelly comes back from the desk with his jaw set.
I know that look. There’s a problem.
Coach sees it too. “What?”
“Hotel screwed the staff rooms,” Donnelly says, sounding almost nervous to be the one to break the news.
Wren looks up from where she’s setting a bag beside the wall.
The front-desk clerk hurries over, face tight. “We’re very sorry. With the storm and the room block changes, we had to move some reservations around. We’re working on it.”
Coach’s voice drops. “Define working on it.”
The clerk swallows. “Most rooms are ready. But one staff room had a leak, and maintenance closed it. We can move one guest to a king room on the third floor for tonight.”
Donnelly pinches the bridge of his nose.
Coach looks at Donnelly. “Who’s without a room?”
Donnelly doesn’t answer right away, then his eyes move to Wren.
My stomach drops.
“No,” I say.
Everyone looks at me. Wren’s eyes flash in my direction, and her face is screaming at me to shut up.
Shit. I said that out loud.
Coach’s brows pull together.
Donnelly exhales. “Calloway was supposed to take the staff double with the trainer. Trainer got moved into the assistant coach’s room. That leaves the king.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Wren says quickly. “I don’t mind being alone.”
Coach turns to the clerk. “Is the king on the same floor as the rest of the staff?”
“Actually, no. The king is on the third floor, where most of the players are. Your staff are mostly on the second floor.” The clerk looks down at the folder and frowns.
“And there’s one more issue. The king room only opens internally through the adjoining room right now.
The hallway lock is malfunctioning, and maintenance can’t get to it until tomorrow. ”
Donnelly stares at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The clerk looks like she might cry. “I’m very sorry.”
I already know before she says the next part.
“The adjoining room is one of your team rooms.”
Coach looks down at the rooming list.
Then at me.
Grayson, standing beside me, mutters, “Oh, hell.”
My pulse pounds once, hard.
Of course it would be the one connected to my room.
Wren finally looks at me, her face unreadable. Mine probably isn’t much better.
Wren shrugs. “I can sleep on a couch if I need to.”
“Not all the rooms have a couch,” the clerk says, then immediately looks like she regrets speaking.
Weston whispers, “Read the room, ma’am.”
Asher elbows him. Coach turns his glare on the whole team. “Everyone else, grab your keys and head to your rooms. Now.”
For once, no one argues.
Donnelly pulls the clerk aside. Coach talks low with the assistant coach. Grayson stands next to me, silent. Wren stays where she is, backpack strap clenched in her hand.
I want to say something, but I’ve got no idea what.
Sorry?
We’ll figure it out?
You can sleep with me? Oh yeah, because that one would make it so much better, idiot. Then again, if Weston so much as offers the couch in his room, I’ll probably stab him with my toothbrush.
Wren is still standing there, looking a lot more defeated than she did a few minutes ago when Coach finally turns back to us. “We’re only here for a night, so we’ll make it work. Calloway takes the king room. Mercer and Bennett keep the adjoining room. Clear?”
Grayson nods. “Clear.”
I nod, too, even though nothing about me feels clear.
Wren looks at Coach. “I can switch with someone else.”
“No,” Coach says. “You’re staff. I’m not putting you with players or sending you across the hotel. This is the safest option until they fix the lock.”
Safe. That word almost makes me laugh.
Nothing about Wren Calloway sleeping on the other side of an adjoining door from me feels safe.
But Coach is right in every way that matters.
Wren nods. “Okay.”
The clerk hands over the keys. Coach gives us a look that could cut glass.
“If I hear one rumor, one joke, one whisper about this,” he says, voice low enough that only our group hears, “the entire team will bag skate until graduation.”
Weston, three feet away pretending not to listen, raises both hands. “I heard nothing.”
Coach mutters a few choice curses under his breath and walks toward the rest of the coaching team.
Wren takes her key card and turns toward the elevators. I pick up her bag before she can.
She stops. “Kai.”
I look down at her bag. “What the hell did you put in here? It’s heavy.”
She snorts. “I know. I packed it, which means I can carry it.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s less heat in them this time. More exhaustion. “Then why are you holding it?”
Instead of saying I need something to do with my hands other than touch you, I tell her, “Because it’s what a friend would do.”
Grayson coughs into his fist.
Wren stares at me before her lips tip up in a small smile. “Compelling argument.”
“It’s my specialty.”
“No, your specialty is overcomplicating simple things.”
Touché.
We walk toward the elevators with Grayson beside us.
The doors open, and Wren steps inside first, and I follow with her bag before Grayson steps in.
The elevator doors slide shut, trapping us in the small mirrored space with silence full of every bad idea I’ve ever had.
Wren looks straight ahead.
I do too.
In the reflection, her eyes lift, finding mine.
My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
The elevator climbs.
Second floor.
Third.
Neither of us look away. Not until the doors open.