42 - Haven
HAVEN
Grayson answered the phone on speaker. We huddled around it, dripping water, still shedding our snow clothes.
“Yeah?”
Mercer didn’t bother with a hello.
“You idiots snowed in?”
Ares finished pulling his boots off and crossed his arms.
“Looks like it.”
“Good,” Mercer grunted.
Sebastian blinked.
“Good?”
“Yeah, good,” Mercer snapped. “Means you’ve got no excuses.”
I dragged my hand through my still-damp hair.
“We literally can’t leave the house.”
“I didn’t say leave,” he shot back. “I said work.”
Grayson sighed quietly. He mouthed the words ‘here we go.’
“I want workouts,” Mercer continued. “Two a day. Three if you’re not dead by the end of the second one.”
Sebastian leaned in closer to the phone.
“You want us doing drills in a blizzard?”
“I want you doing anything that doesn’t involve you getting soft,” Mercer said. “Free weights. Core. Cardio. I don’t care.”
Ares cracked his neck.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Mercer said. “I want to see Rocky Four.”
Silence followed. Sebastian frowned.
“…Rocky Four?”
“How many Rocky’s are there?” Ares asked.
I stared at both of them.
“Are you serious right now?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Mercer barked. “You need to train like animals in the snow.”
“That was Rocky Four?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes.”
“That feels like a very specific reference,” he muttered.
“Shouldn’t we start with Rocky One?” asked Grayson.
“No,” I cut in. “I know what he means. Four’s the best one, anyway. It’s not even close.”
“You’re goddamn right,” Mercer growled.
Ares looked impressed. The others looked personally betrayed.
“You’ve seen all of them?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes.”
“Multiple times?”
“Oh yeah.”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“Feel motivated,” Mercer barked, taking back command of the conversation. “Because if I find out you’re sitting around doing nothing, I will personally—”
The line crackled. Then died.
We all stared at the phone.
“He hung up,” Sebastian said.
“Shocking,” I muttered.
Ares pushed off the wall.
“Alright, he said. Rocky Four.”
“Workout first,” Grayson corrected him.
“No,” Sebastian said. “Movie first. For inspiration.”
“That’s not how inspiration works.”
“It is if you believe in it.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Ares said, stepping closer, “you’re still here.”
That look again. That awareness.
God.
“No,” I said, cutting through it. “We’re not doing either of those things.”
Three sets of eyes turned on me.
“We’re watching film,” I added. “Motor City Barrage.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
I headed straight to the couch, without looking back. My laptop was already linked to the television. I hit a few buttons, and footage started playing.
A minute later, we were all settled in. If you could call it that.
Ares stretched out along one side of the couch, arm draped across the back like he owned it. Sebastian dropped down on the other side, close enough that our shoulders touched immediately.
I ended up in the middle, of course.
Grayson stood beside us, alternating dumbbell curls, eyes locked on the screen. I had to give him credit. The golden boy of the team never gave up a chance to multi-task. He was also taking Mercer seriously, and that was good.
For the next couple of hours, we actually worked. Breakouts. Entries. Defensive gaps. Goalie tendencies, and how to take advantage of them.
They were good when they were locked in — all three of them. Sharp. Observant. Competitive in a way that made everything move faster. I found myself getting pulled into it — into the rhythm of calling things out, rewinding, pointing.
By the third hour, I was losing them fast. Ares went to get up, but I hooked him with my leg and kept him pinned.
“Hold on,” I said. “Before we’re done, I want to show you something.”
They looked back at me curiously.
“What is it?” Sebastian asked.
Instead of answering, I switched clips. Scrolled. Loaded a different game.
Ares frowned.
“What’s this?”
Grayson leaned forward slightly. His expression changed.
Subtle, but I caught it.
“It’s us,” he said.
Sebastian shook his head immediately.
“That’s not me,” he pointed.
“No,” Ares said, eyes narrowing. “It’s us before you.”
I let it play. They continued to watch. The goal went in almost immediately.
Carter Sutherland was at a bad angle. He had even worse positioning. Sebastian leaned forward.
“Jesus.”
I rewound it.
“Look at this,” I said, pointing. “He’s not even on the right side of the crease. He’s looking left — and the puck’s already right.”
We watched it again. And again after that. The goalie’s head moved, but his body didn’t.
“Bad one,” Sebastian whistled.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I pulled up the next clip. Another game. Another goal. This one slower. Late reaction.
“That’s not just late,” Sebastian muttered, “that’s criminally late.”
Ares squinted even harder. He leaned in.
“That’s not a mistake.”
“No,” I said quietly. “It’s not.”
I showed them the next clip. The one after that. Five clips later, the goals got even more egregious.
Through it all, Grayson didn’t say anything. Not even once. He just sat in a nearby recliner, biting his lip.
I noticed that, too.
“He’s off,” Sebastian said. “Way off.”
“Not off,” Ares muttered.
I didn’t look away from the screen.
“Then what?”
Grayson finally answered. His voice was flat.
“Delayed.”
Sebastian frowned.
“What’s the difference?”
Grayson leaned back slightly, finally tearing his eyes from the screen.
“Late is slow,” he said.
A beat.
“Delayed… is waiting.”
Silence. I felt it settle over all of us.
Heavy.
Wrong.
I kept going, clip after clip. Game after game. Bad reads. Open nets. Shots he should’ve had. Shots he didn’t even try to have.
“Oh my God,” Sebastian whispered.
Ares was on the edge of his seat. His body was tight. Tense.
“We trusted him.”
Grayson didn’t respond. He didn’t look at anyone, either.
And suddenly — the room felt colder. Not because of the storm. Because of what we were seeing.
“He was throwing,” I said.
No one argued. No one corrected me.
Ares stood.
“Good.”
I finally looked at him. “Good?”
His mouth curved slightly.
“Now we’ve got something to take from him.”
I stared back at the frozen frame on the screen. At a goal that never should’ve gone in. At a team that thought they were just losing.
At everything that had been taken from them.
From us.
“I have more if you need to see them,” I said quietly. “But by now…”
“Run them.”
I didn’t blink, I just ran the clips. And we watched. Together. Goal by miserable goal.
No one argued this time. No one said a word.
Because now?
We weren’t just watching film anymore.
We were hunting.