15. Wren
WREN
Thankfully no more awkward mornings with Kai were spent this week.
Which was good.
Great, actually.
Excellent for everyone involved.
It meant I could try and get the image of him doing the twins’ hair out of my mind. It also meant I didn’t have to think about waking up in that hotel bed with his arm around my waist and my cheek against his chest.
Except I have been.
Constantly.
It’s not like we crossed any actual lines. I can’t control what I do in my sleep, and obviously he can’t either. Maybe it was cold, and we needed the heat from each other to stay warm.
Fine.
Maybe the line had been gently vandalized.
But now it’s Saturday, and Saturday means game day. Game day means work. Work means towels, jerseys, water bottles, and pretending I have no emotional bandwidth for reliving Kai’s body warm under mine.
That’s the flavor of lie I’m choosing for today.
“Calloway,” Donnelly says from beside the rolling cart. “You’ve counted those laces twice.”
“Sorry,” I say, shuffling them back into their respective bins. “Just being thorough.”
He grunts, which I’ve learned can mean anything from fair point to I’m choosing not to argue because you’re young and annoying. With Donnelly, it’s a guessing game.
The equipment room is busy. Prep for a home game is different from travel prep.
Less hauling, more precision. Jerseys hung in the right stalls, towels stacked, backup sticks checked, tape and wax bins filled, water bottles lined up.
Everything has a place, and if it doesn’t, Donnelly makes sure we find one.
I like that more than I should.
At home, if something disappears, it’s usually because a child moved it, spilled on it, or adopted it for a school project. Here, if a roll of tape goes missing, it becomes a solvable mystery with suspects and consequences.
The locker room door opens, and the first wave of players comes in.
Noise follows them. Laughing, shoes scraping, someone arguing about music, and I can already tell it’s Weston singing half a line of a song before I hear Asher tell him to stop for his own sanity.
My hands keep moving through the lace drawer, but my whole body pays attention in a way I hate.
Kai hasn’t walked in yet.
Which is fine. Not like I’m waiting for him or anything.
Weston appears in the doorway with a smoothie in one hand and his hair damp enough to suggest he recently showered. “Equipment goddess.”
I blink up at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Equipment wizard?”
“No.”
“Laundry Duchess?”
“These are somehow getting worse as you go.”
He leans against the doorframe like he belongs everywhere, which might be his greatest talent. “You’re hard to title.”
“Thankfully, I come fully named. I’m an equipment assistant.”
“Too formal. No flair. You need something with more oomph to it.”
I roll my eyes. “Have you considered bothering someone else?”
“Many times, but you’re very fun to pester.”
He grins wider, and despite myself, I smile.
Weston is ridiculous, but it’s an easy kind of ridiculous.
He doesn’t ask anything heavy from me. He makes too much noise, takes up too much space, and somehow still notices when a joke has helped.
I can see why Kai lets him stay close, even when Kai looks like he wants to tape his mouth shut eighty percent of the time.
“What?” Weston asks, eyes narrowing. “You looked fond for a second. It was unsettling.”
“I was thinking you’re slightly less annoying than you could be.”
The locker room door opens again, and I know who walked through the door without looking.
Kai’s here.
It is unfair, honestly, how specific my reaction to him has become. The quick pinch beneath my ribs. The awareness moving down my spine. The way my hands suddenly feel clumsy and less detail-oriented.
Kai is in a dark suit, hair still damp at the ends. He looks sharper on game days. Sexier too. He’s always looked good, but seeing him in a crisp suit takes that to a whole new level.
Then his eyes find mine.
His gaze pauses on my face, then drops for half a second to my hands before coming back up. It’s not obvious. Not enough for anyone else to make a thing of it, except Weston is unfortunately standing three feet away and has the instincts of a raccoon near an unsecured trash can.
Kai steps closer. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Wow. Excellent conversation skills. Riveting, really.
Weston looks between us, far too interested.
Kai’s mouth shifts like he might say something else, but whatever it is, he thinks better of it. I know that look.
“Good luck tonight,” I say, because apparently I’ve chosen survival through generic phrases.
“Thanks,” he says, giving me a small, almost shy smile before walking away.
It’s such a normal exchange that it should not make my stomach flip.
Weston’s eyebrows shoot up, and then he does the most obnoxious eyebrow waggle I have ever witnessed. The whole upper half of his face gets involved.
I glare at him. He waggles harder, and I whack him with a towel, causing him to let out a small yelp.
Kai turns back toward us.
Weston immediately straightens. “Captain. Beautiful weather we’re having indoors.”
Kai stares.
Weston takes one step backward. “I’m going to go mentally prepare for our game now.”
“You do that,” Kai says.
Weston points at me as he retreats. “Laundry Duchess, we’ll revisit branding later.”
“No, we won’t.”
He disappears into the locker room, still grinning.
Kai looks back at me, and the air between us warms again. Not as dangerous as the hotel room. Not as overwhelming as waking up under his arm. But close enough to make me aware of every inch of space we’re not closing.
“Sorry,” he says.
“For Weston?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s harmless.”
Kai’s expression flickers.
Not quite agreement.
“He’s mostly harmless,” I correct.
“That’s closer.”
I look down at the lace in my hands before I do something stupid, like keep smiling at him. “You should go do captain things.”
“I am doing captain things.”
“Standing in the equipment room?”
“Checking supplies.”
I lift the lace. “For moral support?”
His eyes drop to my hand. “Something like that.”
My pulse trips.
Donnelly’s voice booms from the back. “Mercer, unless your pregame routine involves flirting with the inventory, get out of my room.”
My face heats instantly.
Kai keeps his face neutral, but I can see the smile he’s trying his best to hide. “Yes, sir.”
I turn back to the drawer and pretend to count the rolls of tape while he walks away. I make it to seven before I lose track completely.
Donnelly appears beside me and lets out an overdramatic sigh. “I don’t want to know.”
On the bright side, working a game means that there isn’t time to spiral properly.
By warm-ups, the rink is loud enough that it vibrates in my chest. The student section is already filling in, faces painted, signs up, everyone buzzing with the particular kind of optimism that happens before anyone has had a chance to be disappointed.
Harlow finds me near the tunnel twenty minutes before puck drop, wrapped in a PCU hoodie and carrying nachos, which makes me beyond happy to see.
“You survived,” she says.
“Barely. Weston tried to name me Laundry Duchess.”
She considers this. “I mean, it could be worse.”
“How?”
“Skate wench?”
I stare at her.
She pops a chip into her mouth and shrugs. “You asked.”
I glance toward the ice, where Grayson is skating backward near the blue line. Harlow follows my gaze, and her face softens so dramatically I almost accuse her of becoming a greeting card.
“Gross,” I say.
She smiles. “I love him.”
“Still gross.”
“You’ll understand someday.”
My eyes snap to hers. She looks anything but innocent as she pops another chip into her mouth.
Her smile goes smug, then fades a little when she studies my face. “You okay?”
My first instinct is to lie, but I’m tired of everyone asking that question and tired of myself answering it wrong.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Harlow steps closer. “About Kai?”
I look back at the ice. Kai is skating a warm-up loop, smooth and fast, jersey dark against the white ice.
He looks good out there. Not because he’s perfect, though he is annoyingly close when he plays, but because the ice makes sense under him.
Like it was built to hold all the parts of him that don’t fit anywhere else.
“He’s everywhere,” I say.
Harlow doesn’t answer right away.
On the ice, Kai turns his head. Even with the glass, the noise, and the bodies between us, his eyes find mine. His stride slows for half a second, just enough that Weston bumps his shoulder as he passes and says something I can’t hear. Kai looks away first, but not before his mouth curves.
Harlow sighs beside me. “Oh, Wren.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m walking into traffic.”
“You might be.”
I roll my eyes. “How helpful.”
“I’m your best friend, and he’s my brother. I’m legally required to be both supportive and annoying.”
“You’re leaning annoying.”
“Because you’re leaning self-destructive.”
I look at her. “He’s leaving in a few months.”
Her face softens and she nods. “I know.”
“I have a job. I have my family. I have exactly zero space in my life for a hockey captain with unresolved feelings and a contract waiting for him in Seattle.”
“Do you think his feelings are still there?”
My throat tightens.
I think about his arm around my waist when we woke up. The way he looked at me on my porch when he saw the shirt, like the past had reached up and grabbed him by the throat. The small glances we find ourselves stealing when we think someone isn’t watching.
“Yes,” I say.
Harlow’s expression gentles into something I can’t take. “Then maybe yours are too.”
Those have definitely never left.
The horn blows for the end of warm-ups, saving me from answering.
“Gotta go,” I say quickly.
“Coward.”
“Absolutely.”
She lets me go with a look that says this conversation is far from over. It never is with Harlow. She hoards emotional threads and pulls them when I least expect it.
The game starts fast.