Ashton’s POV
The locker room feels different tonight. Quieter, somehow, despite the usual pre-game hum of skates being laced and sticks being taped. Everyone knows something's coming, even if most of the team doesn't know exactly what.
I sit on the bench, staring at my own hands, trying to steady the tremor I can't quite shake. Three days of planning, of Brandy on the phone with legal and the league office, of authenticating Tom's recordings second by second, all building toward the next hour.
Dalton drops onto the bench beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine, saying nothing for a long moment.
'You good?' he asks finally, voice low, just for me.
'Not really.'
'Didn't think so.' He nudges my knee with his own. 'You've got this, though. Whatever it is you're about to do
