Cole POV
The corridor outside the Crestline practice facility locker room at six-fifteen in the morning is not a place where people have complicated conversations. It’s a place where people carry gear bags and nod and keep moving. Finn Calloway had clearly decided that rule didn’t apply to him.
He was waiting when I came around the corner, back against the cinder block wall, arms crossed. Still in his street clothes. He’d gotten here before me, which meant he’d come early specifically for this, which meant it wasn’t an impulse.
That made it worse.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“I have a morning skate in twenty minutes.”
“I know your schedule.” He pushed off the wall. “That’s why I’m here now.”
He was shorter than me by four inches, but he filled space like a player who had grown up f
