Chapter 27
ZANE
The bar is louder than it probably should be for a team that has another game tomorrow.
Not rowdy - no one’s stupid enough to celebrate properly the night before a final - but loud in that relieved, buzzing way.
The whole team is here except one.
Shaw.
Her “medical precaution” has conveniently kept her upstairs resting while the rest of us unwind for a couple of hours.
Honestly, she probably needs it.
Three games in two days would wreck anyone.
Mercer is retelling Chen’s shootout goal for the fourth time, using increasingly dramatic hand gestures to demonstrate the exact moment our goalie apparently became the most dangerous forward in the conference.
Chen, to his credit, is taking the attention with the same calm expression he always has.
“You should retire now,” Russo tells him. “Peak career moment.”
Chen sips his water.
“Not if I have it my way.”
I shake my head and head toward the bar.
Tonight everyone’s being sensible. No shots, no chaos. Just food, a few soft drinks, and an early night before tomorrow.
I order a Coke and lean against the counter while the bartender pours it.
That’s when I hear my name.
“…Blake.”
The voice comes from a cluster of men sitting further down the bar.
I glance sideways without turning my head.
Dark jackets but not staff. They must be Scouts.
“Very impressive,” one of them says.
I feel a small flash of satisfaction.
Good.
That’s the whole point of this weekend.
Another voice speaks up. “Who’s number nineteen?”
My hand pauses halfway to the glass.
Shaw.
“That kid’s been everywhere,” the first voice says. “Fast. Smart with the puck.”
Of course they noticed. How could they not?
“Where’d he come from?” another man asks. “Was he on the roster before this year?” He sounds curious.
“No idea,” someone answers.
“Transfer from another college?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s his story?”
There’s a small pause.
“No idea,” one of the others admits. “Didn’t see much tape before this tournament.”
I glance down the bar just enough to catch sight of the man who asked that question.
Mid-sixties maybe with graying hair and a lean build.
Someone beside him says his name. “Craig, you scouting him too?”
Craig.
“Trying to figure him out.”
Something about how he says it feels… different.
Most scouts talk about players like numbers on a spreadsheet.
This guy sounds like he’s solving a puzzle or investigating something. He’s not acting like a typical scout.
I look away quickly before anyone notices me paying attention.
It’s none of my business.
Just scouts doing their job.
Still - there’s something slightly strange about the way he was asking those questions. Almost like a journalist.
I shake the thought off and grab my drink. I slide into the booth and raise my glass.
“To Chen,” Russo announces.
“Hockey legend,” Mercer adds.
For the first time all day I lean back and let myself relax.
Tomorrow is the final.
Wolves again.
And we already proved once this weekend that they’re beatable.
Hopefully we can do it again. And with Shaw still in one piece.