Chapter 12 — Carter
Carter
Carter Hayes had a new rule for his life.
No major emotional realizations before breakfast.
Unfortunately, he had developed this rule at least six hours too late.
By the time he walked into the arena for afternoon practice, he had already survived a hospital overnight, a cafeteria muffin with romantic implications, his mother telling him to marry Lena Brooks by text, his father calling Lena “the woman who got my son to eat eggs,” and the uncomfortable discovery that Carter did not just like Lena.
He liked her in ways that made casual feel insulting.
Which was a problem.
Not because Lena was a problem.
Lena was terrifyingly not the problem.
The problem was Carter.
Historically, Carter handled feelings the way Mason handled responsibility: poorly, loudly, and usually while creating more work for innocent bystanders.
Trying meant texting honestly when Lena asked how he was.
Trying meant admitting that when he closed his eyes in the hospital chair, he could still feel Lena’s hand in his, steady as a pulse.
Trying meant he was absolutely, completely, catastrophically in over his head.
He dropped onto the bench in front of his locker and stared at his skates.
Across the room, Mason was unusually quiet.
That should have been warning enough.
Mason quiet meant one of three things.
He was eating.
Or he was committing a crime.
Carter looked up slowly.
Mason stood near Tank’s locker with his back turned, shoulders shaking.
Jonah sat nearby, expression flat with the kind of tired resignation that meant he had already witnessed something stupid and chosen not to save anyone from it.
Logan leaned against his locker, taping his stick, utterly uninterested in the chaos around him.
That made Carter more suspicious.
“What did he do?” Carter asked.
Jonah didn’t even look up. “You’re going to want plausible deniability.”
Then he covered his face with both hands.
“No.”
Mason spread his arms proudly.
Underneath, a clip-art hockey stick crossed a clip-art clipboard.
And below that, in smaller letters:
FOR LOVE AND LOGISTICS
Carter dropped his hands. “Absolutely not.”
Mason frowned. “You haven’t even processed the artistry.”
“I processed enough.”
“It’s supportive.”
“It’s a death wish.”
Tank emerged from behind Mason holding another shirt, looking guilty. “He made prototypes.”
“Tank,” Carter said, wounded.
“I thought it was for charity.”
Mason pointed at him. “It can be.”
Jonah sighed. “He said that after I told him Lena might sue.”
“Lena is going to do worse than sue,” Carter said. “She’s going to organize your destruction.”
Mason looked interested. “With tabs?”
“With subcommittees.”
Progress.
Carter stood and pointed at the shirt. “Take it off.”
“No.”
“Mason.”
“You can’t silence morale.”
“This isn’t morale. This is evidence.”
“It’s team bonding.”
“It’s my personal life.”
The locker room went quiet in the way a locker room did when every single idiot in it wanted to hear the answer but did not want to look like they were listening.
Mason’s eyebrows rose slowly.
“Your personal life,” he repeated.
Carter closed his eyes.
Beautiful.
He had walked right into that one.
Jonah muttered, “Rookie mistake.”
Logan’s mouth twitched.
Carter opened his eyes and pointed at Mason again. “Take off the shirt.”
Mason grinned. “So there is a personal life.”
“There is going to be a funeral if Lena sees that.”
“For me or the shirt?”
“Yes.”
Tank turned the second shirt around and read it again. “I still think ‘For Love and Logistics’ is pretty good.”
Carter looked at him.
Tank lowered the shirt. “But unsafe.”
“Thank you.”
His phone buzzed in his hoodie pocket.
For one ridiculous, hopeful second, he thought it might be Lena.
Mom: Dad is still stable. Doctor says one more night. He is furious about oatmeal. I told him to behave. He said define behave.
Carter: Tell him flirting with nurses for toast does not count as behaving.
Carter looked at the protein bar wrapper on the bench.
Mothers had powers.
Carter: Define real.
Mom: Carter Thomas Hayes.
Mason leaned over. “Ooooh, middle name. You’re dead.”
Carter shoved his face away. “Stop reading my texts.”
“Stop standing where my eyes are.”
Carter typed quickly.
Carter: I’ll eat after practice. Promise.
Mom: Good. Also take Lena somewhere normal tonight if she’s free. No hospital cafeteria.
Carter stared at the message.
Too fast.
He typed:
Carter: Do you have a secret agenda?
Carter’s chest did that painful, embarrassing thing again.
He looked across the locker room at Mason’s terrible shirt.
Her reply came fast enough to make him smile.
Lena: Already suspicious.
He glanced at Mason.
Mason was attempting to convince Logan to model the second shirt.
Carter: If a teammate needed help convincing another teammate not to create unauthorized merch using your nickname, would you consider that a normal-life activity or a crisis?
Lena: What nickname?
Carter winced.
“She’s going to ask,” he said.
Mason perked up. “She’s excited?”
“She’s about to become a weather event.”
Lena’s reply came before Carter could decide how to soften it.
Carter closed one eye like that might help.
Three dots again.
Still no message.
Carter’s survival instinct stirred.
Carter: Before you respond, know that I opposed the design.
Lena: There is a design?
Mason whispered, “Send photo.”
Carter looked at him. “You understand that your life may end.”
Carter: I fear for Mason’s safety.
Lena: Send. It.
Carter took the photo.
Mason posed with both thumbs up.
Tank, traitor that he was, gave a tiny supportive fist pump in the background.
For exactly twelve seconds, nothing happened.
Then:
Lena: Where are you?
Carter looked at Mason. “Make peace.”
Mason swallowed.
Carter: Locker room.
Lena: Keep him there.
Carter: Should I be afraid?
Lena: Not for yourself.
Carter laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Mason’s eyes widened. “What did she say?”
“You’re going to find out.”
“Does she like it?”
“No.”
“But does she respect it?”
Jonah stood. “I’m leaving before legal consequences begin.”
Tank looked at the shirt in his hands. “Should I hide this?”
“Yes,” Carter said.
“No,” Mason said.
Logan, without looking up, said, “Hide the body, too.”
The room went silent.
Logan finished taping his stick.
“What?” he said.
Carter stared at him. “That was almost a joke.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It was.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Mason whispered, “Team bonding.”
“Shut up,” Carter and Logan said together.
Lena Brooks walked in like a woman sent by the universe to remind men why civilization required consequences.
Eyes locked on Mason like a guided missile.
She was here to threaten his friend, and Carter wanted to kiss her hello.
Nothing healthy.
He stepped out of the locker room to meet her in the hallway first, partly because he wanted a second with her and partly because Mason deserved to marinate in fear.
“Don’t,” she said immediately.
Carter pressed his lips together.
“I said nothing.”
“You are thinking it.”
“I think many things.”
“Carter.”
He held up both hands. “For the record, I told him it was too soon.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Too soon?”
“And potentially fatal.”
“Carter.”
He tried not to.
He really did.
But Lena angry on behalf of her own emotional likeness might have been one of his favorite versions of her.
“Wait.”
She looked down at his hand, then up at his face.
“Hi,” he said.
A tiny shift moved through her expression.
Softness breaking through outrage.
“Hi,” she said.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“You look beautiful.”
“I am here to threaten your friend.”
“I know. It’s a strong look on you.”
“Do not flirt with me while I’m angry.”
“I’m learning your range.”
“I hate that this works.”
His grin spread. “Does it?”
She had come to the arena because Mason made a ridiculous shirt, and Carter could hold her hand in a hallway and make her pretend not to smile.
It felt absurdly important.
Then Mason shouted from inside, “Is she here? Did she love it?”
Lena turned slowly toward the locker room.
Carter sighed. “He has chosen death.”
Carter followed, leaning against the wall near the door because interfering would only make things worse and, honestly, he wanted to watch.
Mason stood in the center wearing the shirt.
Pride and fear battled on his face.
Pride was losing.
“Brooks,” he said. “Before you react—”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Carter bit the inside of his cheek.
Lena walked toward Mason with the calm of someone who had already alphabetized vengeance.
“Did you make merchandise with my unofficial nickname on it?”
Mason swallowed. “Merchandise is a strong word.”
“Is there more than one shirt?”
Tank slowly revealed the second shirt from behind his back.
Carter closed his eyes.
Poor guy.
Never built for crime.
Lena turned her gaze to him.
Tank held it out like an offering to a queen he had disappointed.
“It was a prototype,” he said.
“Thank you, Tank.”
He looked relieved and ashamed.
Mason pointed at the shirt. “Technically, prototypes are part of the creative process.”
Lena took the second shirt and read it.
Carter watched her face.
Not yet.
That was worse.
“Mason,” she said calmly.
“Yes?”
“This is unauthorized use of my likeness.”
“There is no likeness.”
Mason blinked.
Carter pressed a fist to his mouth.
Jonah muttered, “Don’t argue with her.”
“Right.” Mason nodded quickly. “Sorry.”
“And you were planning to wear these?”
“To support you and Carter.”
Lena did not turn around, which he appreciated because his face had absolutely betrayed him.
“There is no me and Carter for shirt purposes,” she said.
Mason’s eyes widened with scientific curiosity. “But there is for non-shirt purposes?”
Carter’s voice dropped. “Cross.”
Lena’s cheeks turned pink, but she did not retreat.
Respect.
So much respect he wanted to kiss her again.
“There is for none-of-your-business purposes,” she said.
Logan’s mouth twitched.
Carter pointed at him. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Logan said.