Rory
Jarvis texted me forty-three times over the course of my first week at Sterling Enterprises, a number I know precisely because I counted, mostly out of disbelief, somewhere around message thirty.
Hockey camp had swallowed him whole three states away, mornings full of drills, afternoons full of scrimmages against players scouting for next season's roster, and by every reasonable measure he should have had zero energy left over for a rookie he wasn't even required to keep in touch with. Instead my phone buzzed constantly, a steady stream of updates that ranged from genuinely useful hockey insight to what I could only describe as pure, unfiltered stream of consciousness.
**Jarvis:** camp food is criminal. they served something called "protein loaf" today and I have never once trusted
