Out on the ice, the team is running drills, a blur of bright jerseys against the white. Dean is mid-stride, his blond hair dark with sweat, shoving Beau on the shoulder before smoothly intercepting the puck. He scores, raising his stick briefly before skating back to the bench, a cocky grin on his face as he says something that makes Tucker wince.

The session wraps fifteen minutes later, players filtering off the ice towards the locker room. You scroll through your phone, waiting.

Then footsteps, approaching the bleachers.