Netminder

CLASSIFIED: Tactical Operational Support has redacted portions of this Chapter 1 excerpt.

“Were we that awkward as freshmen?” I asked Mitch as we drove toward my house. While I usually biked home, after the long practice, I took Mitch up on the offer of a ride. Coach had worked the team extra hard in an effort to get the newbies into the right flow. “I don’t remember being that slow or having Coach repeat himself so much.”

“We were quick to catch on to the drills, but we didn’t move very fast. It was a few games into the season before he actually put us in.”

When practice had started two weeks ago, the returning team members reelected Mitch captain. He deserved the recognition for his sportsmanship, leadership, and stellar gameplay.

I was proud to see my best friend retain the title he deserved.

“Maybe I just want to remember the good stuff.” I shot a grin his direction, which he must’ve seen from the corner of his eye since he smiled too. “Why did Coach pick players who can’t follow instructions, though? Makes you wonder who tried out if these were the best choices.”

“They’ll catch on,” Mitch said. “We’re the seniors, so it’s on us to set a good example so they’ll improve like we did. And so they’ll do it when it’s their turn in four years.”

We did have great seniors on the team when we were freshmen. Of course Mitch wanted to be the same for these guys. “I’m sure we’ll do you proud.”

“Please let me talk to Coach about making you the alternate? Alternate Captain Theo Reese has a great ring to it.”

Mitch had pursued this relentlessly for days, even during our August hockey camp.

Camp had distracted me from what happened in New York earlier in the summer.

My watch pulsed with a notification, and I glanced at it. John went into my room.

Strange.

I couldn’t remember a time that he’d entered my room without me at home. My security system’s biometric doorknob would admit only four people—me, my parents, and John. What would he need in there?

I wasn’t on a mission currently, focusing instead on upgrades to the ways agent phones and TOS apps interacted with Siri for voice commands. It was an easy way to get back into the swing of TOS after camp.

Mitch kept looking over, and I recognized the look. He was about to say something he thought I didn’t want to hear. “Have you considered that you might work too much?” He capped the question with a smile.

“Yeah,” I said with a groan attached. “Camp was epic and exactly the reset I needed. So, yeah, it’s possible.”

“Could I convince you to be alternate just by reminding you that I’m your captain?” Mitch pulled into the driveway alongside John’s car. He put the car in park and gave me a stern look.

John and I had held down the home front for a week. Mom went to Portland to train agents on how to handle the effects of being deep undercover. Dad, meanwhile, continued on a mission somewhere in Europe. In an odd way it comforted me to know they were good going away at the same time since they’d watched over my emotional health so much, even after camp. It showed we’d all started to move past the insanity of what had gone down before camp.

“Wouldn’t it be an abuse of power?” It was an honor that he’d asked, but I didn’t want to let him down if I had to put my attention elsewhere.

“All I’m doing is appealing to you as my friend, my teammate…. And someone who falls under my authority.”

He tried to hold a serious face and failed, which ultimately cracked us both up.

“You need to work on that if you’re going to try and influence people with that look.” I smirked at him as I grabbed my pack and opened the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for the ride. Later, man.”

We traded a fist bump before I closed the door. The hatch lifted as I came around to the back to unload my bike.

After gently pushing on the hatch so it’d close, I moved out of the way, so he could pull out. We traded a last wave as he passed.

I triggered the garage door with my phone.

Something felt off.

I racked the bike and gave it the usual end of day once-over but couldn’t shake the odd feeling.

Nothing was out of place. Both cars were gone, and the stuff we stored—Christmas decorations, yard work tools, and random things in bins—looked undisturbed.

If I were Peter Parker, I’d say that my Spidey-sense was tingling.

My imagination must’ve gone off the rails. It had to be an overreaction to the notification about John going into my room.