Chapter 13 Working Together
Working Together
Liam
It was the first time we were doing something outside the apartment together. She slid into her coat. “Gloves, wallet, phone.” Her checklist. It made me smile.
As the elevator hummed, I saw our reflection in the mirrored panel. I smiled and looked away. Nice to do this with someone.
As the light changed, I caught the churro smell. I put my hand at the small of her back and steered us that way. She looked at me but didn’t move away. I kept my hand there until we were headed in the right direction, then let it go.
We hit the cart. I paid, shook the bag once so the sugar spread and angled the top churro towards her. “First bite?”
She bit in and her eyes widened. Sugar dusted her lips. I had to look away. Good detour.
We finished the churros and crossed the street to the market.
I grabbed the basil, pinched the stems, let the oil coat my fingers and took a sniff. “The oil has that sweet, sort of spicy aroma.” I said as I showed her the oil. She leaned in, caught my wrist, and sniffed my fingers. I pressed my lips together. Of course she’d want proof.
I grabbed a few soft rolls. She drifted toward the crustier rolls. I took two and left the soft ones. I grabbed an extra lemon. She likes it in water.
We kept moving through the market. I didn’t aim for the fastest route.
Back at the apartment, we set the bags on the island. I knew I needed to leave for practice, but I didn't want this to end.
She looked at the clock. “Liam, you need to leave for practice.”
I know.
I turned slowly and grabbed my coat.
I still smelled like basil from the market run with Claire. The guys noticed the second I stepped onto the ice.
“Cal’s been cooking,” Mac called out, grinning from the bench. “You seasoning your pads now?”
“Fresh basil,” Jax added, skating past. “Bold locker room choice.”
“Better than sweat and tape,” I said, skating past Mac, giving him a quick tap to his shin pads.
I tugged my mask down and took my first few warm-up shots. Warm-ups were routine. Edges felt good. Then coach set a blue-paint battle drill, two D in front, point shots coming through traffic.
First rep, I tried to peer around bodies. Lost the puck. Missed the save.
We reset. Another drill. Another miss. Jax cut across the slot, and I lost the puck behind his shoulder.
“Hold up,” Chappy, the other goalie, called out from the crease.
He skated over, tapping his stick once on the ice. “Can I grab you three?” he said, nodding at me, Nak, and Jax.
We coasted in.
“You’re getting screened,” he said to me. “Not just by the other squad. Your own guys are drifting into your sightlines.”
“I know.”
“Then call it,” he said. “You see a stick left, yell it. You see a screen, say ‘clear.’ You don’t have to eat every shot blind.”
Nak raised a brow. “You want us calling it too?”
“Yeah,” Chappy said. “If you see someone drifting into Liam’s lane, call it out. ‘Lane left,’ ‘stick high,’ whatever. Help him see it.”
Jax nodded. “We can do that.”
We broke. Reset the drill. This time, I tracked better. When Mac cut across the slot, Jax barked, “Lane left!” and Mac peeled off. Nak tapped his stick and shouted, “Stick high!” before I even saw the screen forming.
I made the save. Clean. No hesitation. Jax bumped the top of my helmet with his glove.
Next rep, I called it myself. “Clear!” Nak shifted. Sightline. The puck came in low. Easy glove. I kept it and slid the puck to the linesman.
By the end of the drill, the rhythm was different. Not just me reacting, my team adjusting, anticipating, helping.
During the break, I skated over to Chappy.
“Appreciate that,” I said.
He shrugged. “You don’t have to do it all solo.”
I nodded, watching Nak and Jax chirp at Mac across the ice.
“I know,” I said. “Still getting used to it.”
He smiled. “You’re not the only one out here, Cal.”
I looked down at my gloves, then back at the ice. The basil scent had faded.
Coach blew the whistle. The Zamboni doors cracked open, and we headed to the tunnel.
In the room, tape snapped and showers hissed. Chappy thumped my shoulder once as he passed. “Use your words.”
“Got it,” I laughed. We fist-bumped.
Mac pointed at me with his stick. “Whatever basil magic that is, keep it.”
I cracked a smile and headed for the showers. Twenty minutes later I was clean, packed, and out of the arena. Time to go home and start the risotto.
I stopped for wine. No clue what she likes, so I grabbed a Sauv blanc, a chardonnay, and a pinot. Three chances to get it right. I’ll learn the favorite; tonight, she gets a choice.