"Until the math stops working." He glanced at me. "You gonna lecture me about my career choices right before I meet your family?"
"Would it help?"
"Nope."
His phone buzzed. He checked it immediately, then again at the next red light.
"Jake?"
"Group chat. Pickle is asking about tape again." He scrolled through the messages, his thumb moving fast, looking for something specific or avoiding something specific.
The GPS chirped our exit.
Hog took it too carefully. "Okay. Ground rules. What do I not say?"
"Don't mention that you fight for a living."
"I'm an enforcer. They're gonna know."
"Don't offer to teach Liam how to punch people."
"Wasn't planning on it." His phone buzzed again. He grabbed it before the sound died.
"Hog."
"What? It could be important."
"It's Pickle asking about skate sharpening."
"You don't know that."
He pocketed the phone for now.
Sloane opened the door, looking like death. Marker stains on her cardigan, hair shoved back in a knot, and exhaustion carved into every line of her face.
"Traffic?" she asked flatly.
"Yeah."
"Liar. Get inside."
There was a thunder of feet. Mae skidded around the corner, saw Hog, and her eyes widened. She backed up so fast she nearly tripped.
Hog froze in the doorway, folding his shoulders in, trying to take up less space. "Hey. I'm Connor. You can call me Hog if you want. Most people do." He crouched down, knees popping loud enough to make me wince. "You're Mae, right? Your uncle says you're really good at math."
Mae hid herself partway behind Sloane's leg. "You're really tall."
"Yeah. Sorry about that. Can't fix it." He stayed low. "You can stay back there. I'm pretty big. I get it."
Liam appeared, with sharp elbows and a sharper attitude. "You play for the Storm."
"Right wing."
"Enforcer."
"Yeah."
"So you fight. Like actual fighting."
