Page 93 of On the Breakaway

I slide my bag over my shoulder, running a hand through my hair. “He plays fine with Rowley on the second line, but would play better with Liam on the first.”

“He looked hesitant during the walkthrough.”

“He’s trying too hard not to screw up. If you never give him a shot, that’ll just confirm his fears.”

The room falls quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. Coach Rylan’s never been overly chatty with us. He’s earned our respect with his harsh transparency. You always know where you stand with him.

Finally, he taps the binder once. “I’ll push Barrett up.”

“Good call.”

“Keep the team out of trouble tonight.”

“That depends on Liam.”

“Well, then tell Liam if I find out any of you are making shitty decisions the night before a game, you’ll all be skating suicides until you puke.”

“Point taken.”

As soon as I step into the main lobby area of the hotel, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Wyatt: If you’re not outside in five minutes, we’re leaving without you.

I make it there in four, and am relieved to see that the paparazzi aren’t too bad tonight. Aside from Nathan across the parking lot, talking to a reporter about how he’s close to getting back on the ice, there’s no one else waiting for us.

The club is a couple of blocks away, so we walk there. The team chatter is focused on the night ahead. When we step inside, the entire place swallows us whole, music vibrating against the walls.

Liam looks entirely too pleased with himself as he scans the crowd. “See? This is why I like road trips.”

“You like road trips because women in different cities don’t know your reputation yet,” Wyatt says.

“That’s called networking.”

“That’s called a public health concern,” Nathan mutters.

Liam ignores him, waving toward the bartender while we shove through the crowd toward the back of the club. It’s so loud that conversation is impossible unless you lean directly into someone’s ear.

People are packed across the dance floor beneath the colored lights, bodies all moving to whatever party track the DJ is playing. A hostess lifts the rope for us near the back section, and we slide into the reserved booth.

Liam glances up from his phone. “Avery texted me. She said the girls should be here soon.”

My eyes flick instinctively toward my pocket before I can stop myself.

Stupid.

Still, I pull my phone out anyway.

Of course, there aren’t any messages. She wouldn’t text me something like that. She wouldn’t text me at all.

I lean back against the booth with a quiet scoff at myself while Wyatt orders the only round of beers we’re getting tonight. I sure as hell don’t want to be skating suicides if we’re sluggish in our game.

Nathan nudges my boot under the table. “You look miserable already.”

“Clubs are my worst nightmare,” I say.

“I’m just happy you’re out with us. If this were last season, you’d be back at the hotel on FaceTime with your girlfriend.”

He’s not wrong. Whenever I had a girlfriend, the last thing I wanted to do was be in a club like this without her, so on away trips I spent a lot of time in my hotel room. It’s just another reason why staying single has been good for me.