"Absolutely," I said. "That's him."
"THE Hog Hawkins? From the Storm?"
"That's the one."
She skated up to him and stopped two feet away. "You fought Kellner last week. He had it coming."
"Uh. Thanks?"
"My dad says enforcers are a dying breed, but I think you're cool." She shrugged. "Can you teach me how to hit?"
"Maren," I called. "We're not teaching hitting."
"But—"
"Stick skills first."
She sighed like I'd ruined her life and skated off.
Hog looked at me. "That kid is scary."
"Wait till you meet Jeremy."
Ten minutes later, twelve kids circled the rink. Hog stood beside me, arms crossed.
"They're fast."
"Some of them."
"That kid—" He pointed at a small boy struggling to keep up. "He's working twice as hard as everyone else."
"That's Jeremy. Started late. Doesn't have the instincts yet, but he's got heart."
Hog nodded. "I like him."
I blew the whistle. The kids scrambled to a stop and gathered around us. Twelve pairs of eyes stared at Hog like he'd descended from Valhalla.
"This is Hog Hawkins. Some of you might know him from the Storm. He's helping today, so listen when he talks."
"Are you really an enforcer?" Brit shouted.
"Do you actually knit?" Maren asked.
Hog blushed. He glanced at me, a panicky expression on his face.
I nodded and raised an eyebrow.
He cleared his throat. "Uh. Yeah. I knit. I also fight people. Sometimes both in the same day, which sounds weirder out loud than it did in my head."
The kids laughed.
"I once knit a pig — full-sized, like an actual pig. His name was Dennis. Got auctioned off for two hundred bucks, which means I'm officially a professional pig-maker."
More laughter. Jeremy raised his hand.
"What do you need, bud?"
"Why do you fight people?"
