"You're doing fine," I said.
"Really?" The hope in his voice was almost painful.
"Really."
Hog nodded. Pickle exhaled and then smiled, some of the manic energy coming back. "Okay. Okay, yeah. But seriously, have you ever found bones?"
"Let the man settle before you interrogate him." Coach turned his steady gaze on me. "You drink coffee?"
"Yeah."
"Good." He flagged down the server—an older woman with steel-gray hair—and ordered me coffee and a menu without asking what I wanted.
The coffee arrived fast, bitter enough to strip paint. I took a sip while everyone stared to see if I'd flinch. I didn't and took another sip.
"So," Evan said, closing his notebook with a decisive snap. "Rhett Mason. Local contractor. Youth hockey coach. Dating our enforcer." He tilted his head slightly. "What else should we know?"
"Not much to tell."
"That's a deflection." Evan's gray eyes were sharp and analytical. "Try again."
"C'mon, guys," Hog said.
"I'm making conversation. Getting to know Rhett." Evan's gaze didn't waver from mine. "So. What else should we know?"
I thought about deflecting again, keeping it surface-level and safe. Then I thought about what Jake had said—you can't just smile and get through it.
"I'm thirty-two," I said. "I've lived in Thunder Bay my whole life. Took over my dad's business when he got sick. I coach kids because I didn't get to play past high school, and I wanted to give them what I didn't have." I paused. "And I'm here because Hog matters to me. I want to know the people who matter to him."
Jake said, "That's better. See? Wasn't so hard."
"It was a little hard," I admitted.
"Good. Should be." Jake flagged the server. "We're ready to order. Get Rhett the pancake special. He looks like he needs carbs."
"I can order for myself—"
"You absolutely can," Jake agreed. "But if you order the omelet, I'll judge you. This is a pancake establishment."
Beside me, Hog was trying not to smile.
After the server took our orders and left, Jake grabbed the salt and pepper shakers, setting them up on the table. "Okay, so third period, we're down by one, and Desrosiers makes that brain-dead pass—"
"It wasn't brain-dead," Evan said. "He was reading the weak-side rotation."
"He was reading his own ass. Look at this." Jake positioned the salt shaker—Desrosiers, apparently—and the pepper as the opponent. "He goes here, their winger collapses, and boom—" He swept his hand dramatically and knocked over Coach's coffee.
"Jesus Christ," Coach said, grabbing napkins.
"Sorry, Coach." Jake didn't sound sorry. "But you see what I mean? Hog had to bail him out—"
"Hog was out of position," Evan interrupted. "If he'd held the blue line like we talked about—"
"I held the blue line," Hog said. "Until I didn't."
"That's not holding the blue line. That's visiting the blue line and then leaving."
"Their center was going to split the defense. I made a choice."
