AMY’S POV
The charter bus finally came to a stop in the frozen athletic center parking lot at two in the morning.
The engine idle hummed through the floorboards as players began stretching, groaning, and dragging their heavy duffel bags down the aisle. The six-hour drive back from the away game had been quiet, but the air inside the cabin had felt thick with an unspoken, crackling tension.
I stood by the front steps, holding the equipment clipboards while Briar checked off the final gear inventory with Coach.
Ryder brushed past me, his heavy hockey bag slung over one shoulder. He looked exhausted, the dark shadows beneath his eyes visible in the dim light, but the victory and his successful meeting in Chicago had finally softened his expression.
He paused beside me for a brief second
