The team bus hummed through the night, somewhere between Pittsburgh and Columbus. Lights dimmed low, most of the guys already passed out with hoodies pulled over faces or neck pillows strangling them. Headphones leaked tinny music. The occasional snore.
Back row — the sacred territory — belonged to the top line plus one.
Riley sat wedged between Dima and the window, still looking a little shell-shocked from the morning. Knees bouncing. Eyes darting. Every time the bus hit a bump his thigh pressed against Dima’s massive one, and he flinched like it burned.
Jaxon sprawled across two seats opposite, legs spread wide, smirking at the rookie’s obvious nerves. Marek sat beside Jaxon, calm as ever, scrolling through scouting reports on his tablet like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t f****
