Chase
Returning after a one-game suspension should not have felt like walking into a courtroom.
It was only practice.
The same locker room. The same benches. The same smell of equipment, cold air, and sports tape. Yet every conversation seemed to pause when I entered, as though the team had been waiting to see whether I would arrive angry, embarrassed, or pretending nothing happened.
Ryan looked up first.
“Look who remembered where the arena is.”
I dropped my bag beside the locker.
“I was gone for one game.”
“It felt longer.”
“That is because you lost without me.”
“We won.”
“Barely.”
Ryan grinned and tossed a roll of tape toward me.
I caught it before it hit my chest.
Several teammates laughed, and the tension in the room eased. One of the younger players tapped his stick aga
