Ethan
I check my phone between drills, which isn't something I normally do. Practice is practice. I don't bring my phone onto the ice, obviously, but I've started leaving it face-up on the bench instead of buried in my bag, and every time we break for water I find myself glancing at it before I've even consciously decided to.
There's nothing there. No text from Noah, no reason there should be one, since he's got his own practice running at the exact same time on the other side of campus and no reason at all to be texting me in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.
I check anyway. Third time in twenty minutes.
"You waiting on something?" Marcus asks, sliding up beside me at the bench, breathing hard from the last drill.
"No."
"You've checked that thing like six times since we started."
