Chapter 145: Welcome to the Organization

Justin’s POV

I had been on the road for a while before I finally admitted it to myself: I was nervous.

Not terrified. Not the kind of gut-wrenching anxiety that made your stomach twist into knots. It was just a restless, vibrating hum beneath my skin.

Nervous. Excited. Unbelievably eager.

My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the leather of the steering wheel as the highway stretched out ahead of me. Development camp. The words still felt surreal in my mouth. Just two days ago, I’d been sitting in a crowded draft hall, holding my breath, waiting to see if my name would be called first overall.

Then it happened. They said my name.

And right after me, they called Mason. Second overall. To the exact same franchise.

The whole thing felt like an impossible fever dream. But now, the highway was leading me straight toward the place where the dream actually started demanding work.

I glanced at my phone sitting in the cup holder. The screen lit up.

Mason:You alive, man?

A low laugh broke from my throat. At the next red light, I grabbed the phone.

Me:Unfortunately.

His reply flashed back instantly.

Mason:Good. Get your ass over here and pick me up.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. Typical.

A few minutes later, I pulled into his apartment complex and spotted him right away. He was leaning against the curb beside his gear bag, wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, and the smug expression of a man who had been patiently waiting for an opportunity to annoy me.

I rolled down the passenger window. "Get in."

Mason picked up his bag, strolling over. He stopped right at my window, squinting inside. "Well, well. Look at you."

I stared back at him. "What?"

He grinned wickedly. "The hermit finally emerges from his love cave."

I snorted. "Get in the fucking truck, Mason."

He was still laughing as he threw the passenger door open. "You’ve been off the grid for two days and you’re already aggressive."

"I was on vacation."

"With Harper."

"Yes."

"While the rest of us were agonizing over development camp."

I tossed him a dry look. "You’re jealous."

"Of you?" He tossed his heavy gear bag into the back seat. "Please. I have my dignity."

"You literally cried when your girlfriend left for the weekend last month."

"I did not cry."

"You absolutely cried."

"I had an eye allergy!"

"In both eyes?"

"Shut up, Justin."

I chuckled, pulling away from the curb and hitting the main road.

For the next twenty minutes, the cab of the truck was filled with the same mindless, familiar banter we’d been trading since we were kids. It was comfortable. Grounding. Exactly what I needed to quiet the static in my head.

Eventually, the laughter faded, and I glanced sideways at him. "You ready for this?"

Mason leaned his head back against the headrest, staring at the roof of the cab. "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"I don’t know, man."

I nodded, my grip tightening on the wheel. "Same."

"I think I’ll know the second we step through the doors," he murmured, looking out the window. "This isn’t like anything we’ve done before."

"No. It’s not."

A heavy beat of silence settled between us.

"We’re actually going to their development camp," Mason said quietly, as if testing the reality of it.

"Yeah."

"Like... an NHL organization’s camp."

"I know, Mase."

He let out a breathy laugh. "I just needed to hear it out loud."

I got it. Because I needed to hear it too.

This wasn’t college anymore. This wasn’t a university rink where everyone already knew our names, where we were the established stars of the program. We were entry-level prospects now. Small fish swimming into a massive ocean. Every single guy showing up today had been drafted, recruited, or invited because someone high up believed they had elite potential. There was nowhere to hide, and no past accomplishments to hide behind.

The silence returned, but it was charged with anticipation.

When the team’s massive training facility finally rose up in the distance, Mason sat up straight. "Damn."

I slowed the truck down. The complex was monolithic, modern, and intimidating. The team’s iconic crest was emblazoned across the polished glass facade. Sleek cars were pulling into the lot, and players, staff, and families were moving through the main entrance.

I put the truck in park. For a long moment, neither of us made a move to get out. We just stared through the windshield.

Mason turned his head slowly. I looked back at him.

"Man," he whispered, his eyes wide. "This is big."

I nodded, a sharp spike of adrenaline hitting my bloodstream. "Yeah. It is." I grabbed my bag from the back. "Let’s go."

The second we pushed through the double glass doors, the atmosphere shifted completely.

The smell hit me first that sharp, pristine bite of cold air, fresh ice, leather, and skate steel. The essential scent of hockey. But beneath it was an unmistakable layer of corporate, high-stakes professionalism. Staff members in matching team apparel bustled around with clipboards and iPads. Prospects were queuing up at check-in tables, receiving heavy black binders and gear bags.

Mason leaned closer to me. "This is wild."

"Keep your mouth shut and act like you belong here," I muttered out of the side of my mouth.

"You’re the one staring!"

"I am not staring."

"Justin, you’ve been glaring at that giant logo on the floor for thirty seconds."

"I was appreciating the branding."

He snorted.

Before he could keep going, a broad-shouldered man wearing a team polo shirt approached us. He stopped, looking between the two of us, before his face broke into a broad grin.

"Well, look at this." He pointed a finger back and forth between us. "The draft twins have arrived."

Mason immediately laughed. "Twins?"

The man chuckled, offering a warm hand. "You know what I mean. The dynamic duo."

"I think we’re a little too good-looking to be twins," Mason quipped.

I jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "Ignore him, sir."