I whip around and find Maverick standing in the entrance to the locker room wearing his full gear. His helmet falls from his gloved hand when his eyes meet mine. He gapes at me, blinks twice, then pops his mouth open. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “Hey,” I say. “What’s up?” “What’s up? What’s up?” Maverick charges toward me. I’m afraid he’s going to yell at me for ignoring everyone and leaving the group chat. For disappearing for months and falling off the face of the earth. When he drops his gloves like he’s ready for a fight on the ice, I brace myself for a swing. No punch comes. Instead, he’s
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