Sawyer
Earlier that season
I knew we were in trouble the moment we walked into the Golden Dragon.
The place was dead. Not the good kind of dead where you can stretch out and take over the joint.
The creepy kind, like we’d stumbled into some horror movie where the unsuspecting victims get served special soup with mystery ingredients.
Cheat Night with the Fusion was supposed to be chaos. This felt like a setup.
We grabbed a big round table under a dim red paper lantern. The waitress, who looked old enough to have seen the first dumpling crawl onto land, tossed down some menus and shuffled off.
Dex, our rookie with questionable taste, had picked tonight’s cheat meal spot, and judging by the looks on my teammates’ faces, I wasn’t the only one regretting not vetoing his choice.
“Dex, man, you really outdid yourself this time,” I said, eyeing the deserted dining room. “I think we’re the only living souls in here.”
His face fell slightly. “My cousin said this place is usually packed. Best dumplings in Miami.”
“Your cousin clearly has never eaten food before,” Brody said, sliding into a chair and eyeing a dusty fish tank where a single goldfish drifted listlessly. “That thing’s one bubble away from a funeral.”
I claimed a seat between Mason and Roman, the chair creaking ominously beneath me.
The flickering neon sign outside the restaurant cast an eerie red glow through the grimy windows, illuminating our table and making everyone look slightly psychotic.
The only other customers were an elderly couple in the far corner who hadn’t spoken or looked up once since we arrived.
Hunter, our goalie and the most superstitious guy I knew, was scanning the ceiling with narrowed eyes. “You know what they say about empty restaurants...”
“That they have shitty food?” Cade offered.
Roman snorted. “In Russia, we say empty restaurant means bad luck.”
“Thanks for that,” Mason said dryly, his Canadian accent slightly more pronounced when he was annoyed. “Really helping the ambiance.”
The industrial fridge behind the register chose that exact second to let out a death rattle.
King, our illustrious leader, leaned back in his seat, his imposing frame dwarfing the rickety chair. “As long as the food’s good, I don’t give a damn about the ambiance.”
Dex was busy studying the sticky menu. “Whatever, it’s Cheat Night. I’m getting the Number 4 with extra MSG.”
Brody punched Dex on his arm. “You’re paying if I get food poisoning, pretty boy.”
“Talk all you want,” Dex said. “You’ll be licking the plates in ten minutes.”
The ancient waitress materialized beside our table, startling King so badly he knocked over a bottle of soy sauce. She didn’t seem to notice, her face impassive as she pulled out a notepad.
“Orders?” she asked flatly.
We went around the table and listed our orders. The waitress didn’t write anything down in her notepad, just stared at us with a faintly hostile look on her face.
Hunter caught her sleeve before she left. “Extra chili oil?” He hit her with the dimpled smile that got free appetizers in every zip code.
She blinked at him like he’d asked for uranium. “No extras. Kitchen doesn’t do special requests.”
She stared at Hunter for an uncomfortably long moment before disappearing back toward the kitchen.
“She’s definitely spitting in our food,” Brody declared, leaning back in his chair.
I drummed my fingers against the table. “Even bad Chinese food beats the hell out of another kale smoothie.”
Cade raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to my digestive system tomorrow during morning skate.”
“Coach is going to love that,” King said. “Nothing says ‘championship team’ like the entire team taking emergency bathroom breaks.”
Dex crossed his arms over his chest. “You guys are a bunch of pussies.”
The chopstick fight that followed would’ve gotten us banned if there’d been anyone there to care. Brody tried to use Dex’s head as a shield. Roman threatened to revoke everyone’s kneecap privileges. Hunter was blocking chopstick jabs left and right while I was parrying with Mason.
When Dex was forced to call mercy, the table erupted in laughter, the gloomy atmosphere momentarily forgotten. That was the thing about our team. We could find humor in anything, even a dead restaurant with questionable health standards.
“Wait, where’d those two in the corner go?” I squinted across the dimly lit room, noticing the elderly couple had vanished. “Did anyone see them leave?”
Heads shook around the table. Hunter shrugged. “Maybe they slipped out while we were busy with our chopstick brawl?”
Cade chuckled, waving a chopstick in the air. “Or maybe they dined and dashed, saving themselves from the horror that is this place.”
Just then, the waitress reappeared with our food questionably fast. The order wasn’t exactly what we requested, but close enough.
No one had the courage to complain. The congealed noodles and dumplings glistened on the chipped plates, leaving suspicious oil slicks in their wake.
It didn’t stop us from inhaling it like feral raccoons.
For the next twenty minutes, we demolished the food, conversation flowing easily between bites.
Our stealthy waitress was suddenly behind me, nearly giving me a heart attack. She set down a tray of fortune cookies with a clatter that echoed through the empty restaurant.
“Dessert?” Roman asked hopefully.
“Your fortune,” she said, her voice monotone. Without another word, she retreated.
“Ooh, prophetic desserts!” Dex lunged across the table, nearly face-planting into a bowl of abandoned fried rice. “Gimme the one that predicts my Hall of Fame speech.”
Brody reached for one and cracked it open. “Let’s see what kind of night I’m in for.” He pulled out the small slip of paper. “A passionate new romance is on the horizon.” His grin turned lethal. “As if I needed a fortune to tell me that!”
“You sure that doesn’t mean your hand?” I quipped, earning a wadded-up napkin thrown at my head.
Dex cracked his cookie with a bit more force than necessary. “A smile is your personal welcome mat.” He looked around the table. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means you picked a crap restaurant and you’re still smiling about it,” Cade said, tossing a fortune cookie crumb at him.
Hunter was next, carefully selecting his cookie as if it were a mission-critical decision. “A surprise awaits you at home.” He blinked. “That’s… interesting.”
The rest of us grabbed the remainder of the cookies, the familiar crinkle of cellophane oddly loud in the too-quiet restaurant.
Mason squinted at his slip of paper. “You will find great success in your chosen field.” He shrugged. “Well, I sure hope so. Otherwise, what the hell are we doing here?”
Cade laughed at his. “‘Your smile will tell you what makes you feel good.’ Deep, man. Real deep.”
Roman studied his fortune like it might contain playbook secrets. “Your greatest strength is knowing your weaknesses.” He frowned. “I have no weaknesses.”
“Except modesty,” I said.
King rolled his eyes as he opened his. “You will soon come into great fortune.” He snorted. “Contract negotiation is next month, so they better be right.”
As the table fell quiet, I stared down at my unopened cookie. A flicker of unease hit me, my pulse quickening for no apparent reason.
“You gonna open that or just admire the packaging, Rhodes?” Brody’s voice snapped me out of my daze.
I forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as strange as I felt. “Just savoring the suspense.”
I cracked open the cookie, the snap echoing loudly in the silent restaurant. Instead of the usual white scroll of paper, a yellowed scrap slid out and landed in my palm like it belonged in a museum.
“What the—” I began, picking it up carefully.
“Did you get expired wisdom?” Brody joked, leaning over to look.
I unfolded the paper. The message wasn’t typed like the others, but handwritten in spidery, faded ink. My eyes scanned the words, and suddenly, the room felt like it was spinning. This couldn’t be right. My heart pounded as I read the words over and over, trying to make sense of them.
Underneath the words was an ink drawing of a serpent, coiled and ready to strike. My stomach churned. The detailed scales, the small eye. Unmistakable. A cold sensation crawled up my spine. It looked exactly like the tattoo circling my wrist. What the actual fuck?
This had to be a joke.
I must have been silent for too long, because Roman elbowed me. “What’s yours say, Sawyer? C’mon, share with the class.”
Swallowing hard, I angled the fortune away, masking my unease with a chuckle. “Nothing exciting. Just some nonsense about lucky numbers. Boring.”
Before I could react, Roman snatched the paper from my grasp. His face paled as he read the fortune, uttering a string of curses in Russian. He tossed the paper back to me, crossing himself as if warding off bad luck.
“What was that about?” Hunter asked, eyeing Roman warily.
“Dude, you can’t just freak out and leave us hanging,” Dex added, his brows knitted together.
“Yeah, spill it, Sawyer!” Brody demanded, his eyes glinting with mischief.
My mouth went dry as I read the words aloud:
Beware the hex that divides the fusion.
For a second, nobody even breathed.
Brody let out a nervous laugh, breaking the tension. “Very funny. Which one of you jokers swapped that out? Who did it?”
Silence. The guys exchanged glances, but no one claimed responsibility. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
All eyes were glued to the fortune in my hand. Roman leaned over, his gray eyes studying the odd slip of paper.
Roman pointed to the drawing. “That serpent...”
His chair screeched when he stood. “Wait. Wait wait wait.” He grabbed my wrist, yanking up my sleeve to reveal the ink beneath. “It looks just like Sawyer’s tattoo.”