Dinner at the hockey house felt like walking onto thin ice. The long wooden table vibrated with loud voices, clattering forks, and the kind of easy chaos that came from twenty-three guys who had known one another for years. Riot and Tank traded stories that grew more ridiculous with every retelling. Liam flashed me occasional lopsided grins that lingered a beat too long. Ethan, the rookie, kept stealing wide-eyed glances like he still couldn’t believe I was real.
At the head of the table, Caleb ruled in silence.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t join the banter. He simply watched. Every few minutes his grey eyes found me across the dishes and half-empty plates, heavy and unreadable. Each look pressed against my skin like a weight I couldn’t shake. The food tasted like ash. My muscles still ache
