Chapter 7 Locker Rules #2
She nods, a little of the tension easing. Having a plan helps.
“If anything feels off—even just a gut twitch—you tell me. You know this place, these people. Trust your instincts.”
A teenage server hovers by my table, voice cracking. “Coffee?” He looks like he’s about to bolt just for speaking to me.
“I’ll grab it, Black, two sugar.” Tara starts to move, but I press a steady hand to her shoulder.
“Mrs. W’s got you in the corner section, right? Perfect. Easier for me to keep you in sight, For now, let someone else run the coffee—you stick to your tables. That’s your ice. I’ll cover the rest.”
The kid—his name tag reads TYLER—nods eagerly. "Your coffee’s coming right up, sir!"
As he scurries away, Tara gives me a look. "You can't just commandeer the restaurant."
“Watch me.” I smile at her, slouching just enough to look casual while Tara straightens her apron and heads to her section. To anyone watching, I look relaxed. Territorial, maybe, but not tense.
The truth? I’ve stopped pretending I can track every face in the room. PCS makes that a gamble I can’t afford. So I focus on Tara. She moves through her tables with that easy grace, dropping names and details for me in passing—reminders slipped in so smooth nobody notices but me.
Her memory is a weapon, like her father said. But with her, it’s more than that—her kindness turns it into a salve when the room spins and the ground won’t stay still.
Mrs. Henderson waves from her usual spot; I return it with a smile.
The Peterson sisters flutter their fingers at me, whispering behind their menus.
I know their faces, sure. But their names only click because Tara had just tossed them out in conversation, handing me the save without drawing any attention to my memory slipping.
So far, everything looks normal.
Which is exactly when things tend to go sideways.
Tara glides past with a basket of scones to her table, her hip brushing my arm as she leans in just enough to murmur, “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you scan the room like you’re expecting an attack.” She keeps her voice low, casual. “Your jaw is clenched, and you haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”
Shit. I roll my shoulders loose, make it look easy. “Sorry. Habit.”
“Hockey habit?”
“Defenseman habit.” I tip my chair closer, keeping my voice just for her. “It’s my job to hold the line. Cut off angles. See trouble before it hits the net. That doesn’t turn off just because I’m off the ice.”
Tyler returns with my coffee, setting the mug down with slightly trembling hands. Kid's star-struck, which would be funny under different circumstances.
"Anything else?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, pulling out my wallet and handing him a twenty. "See that guy in the gray suit who just walked in? The one trying very hard not to look in our direction?"
Tyler glances toward the entrance, and I see his eyes widen slightly. "Yeah?"
"Find an excuse to walk past his table. Listen to what he's saying. If he mentions me or Tara, you come tell me immediately." I hand him another twenty. "And Tyler? This stays between us."
The kid pockets the money and nods, suddenly looking much more serious. "Got it, Mr. Wilder."
As Tyler walks away, Tara pretends to wipe the table. "Did you just recruit a teenage spy?"
"I recruited a teenage informant. There's a difference."
She shakes her head, but I catch the hint of a smile. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm thorough." I take a sip of coffee—regular, thankfully—and study the man in question. Mid-forties, expensive suit, trying too hard to look casual while checking his phone every thirty seconds.
He doesn't look like family muscle. Too nervous. Too obvious.
"Probably just a businessman," Tara says, following my gaze. "Cedar Falls gets its share of them passing through."
"Maybe." But my instincts are singing, and I learned a long time ago to trust them.
My phone buzzes. Text from Levi:
So… how was your first night at Tara’s? Town's already planning the wedding.
I huff a laugh and angle the screen toward her.
She groans, burying her face in her hands. “Of course he’d ask. The whole town probably placed bets.”
“Could be worse,” I say, tapping back a quick reply. “Could be more anonymous psychos threatening us.”
Tara’s shoulders tightened, and she doesn't laugh. The casualness of Levi’s text suddenly feels wrong, a reminder that while the town gossiped, a real threat still lurk, unseen and hungry.
My head fuzzes suddenly, the edges of the room smearing.
Damn PCS. I lock on Gray Suit, then on Tara gliding between patrons. She doesn’t even need a notepad—every order tucked away like muscle memory. Easy. Natural. Unfortunately for me, what used to come without thought, now takes effort.
The dizziness passes, slow and stubborn.
Then I watch Tyler makes his move. armed with a coffee pot, moving past Gray Suit's table with the practiced invisibility of good service staff. The man barely glances at him, too focused on his phone conversation.
A few minutes later, Tyler returns to refill my mug, leaning in slightly.
"He's not talking about you," Tyler reports quietly. "Something about quarterly projections and a conference call at two."
I slip him another ten. "Good work, kid. Keep an eye out."
As Tyler walks away, Tara comes back to my table, pretending to wipe it down.
“Helping a pro hockey player run surveillance? You know he's going to use this story to get dates for the rest of high school, right?”
“Yeah, probably." I grin at her. “Kid just punched his ticket to prom season.”
She finally cracks, lips curling into a smile. “Awww…” she drawls, exaggerated and teasing, like she’s mocking me and melting me at the same time.
Something tight in my chest eases. Damned if that sound doesn’t land harder than any cheer I’ve ever heard from the stands.
But as she glides off to another table, I realize just sitting here—watching, waiting—feels like a penalty kill with no stick. Too static. Too obvious.
Watching her move, knowing my PCS will drop details if I try to track everything, gnaws at me. If I really want to keep eyes on her, if I want to send a message to whoever’s watching, I need to be in the game.
I straighten in my chair, smirk tugging at my mouth as the idea forms.
When Tara circles back, I catch her wrist, lean in with a grin that she knows spells trouble.
“New plan, Rookie. I’m done sitting pretty in the corner.”
Her brows draw together. “Cam… what are you—”
“You’ll see.”