"This? Oh, no. This is calm. Sometimes Jake sets things on fire."
Heath's eyes opened wider. "Accidentally?"
"Mostly."
He blinked, trying to absorb the information.
"Come on," I said. "Next drill. Skate like you're trying to impress someone who's not looking."
Heath frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"It makes perfect sense. You're trying to show off, but also pretending you're not. Casual excellence. Accidental competence."
"You care if people notice."
"The character doesn't care. I'm playing a character. The character is a guy who's effortlessly good at hockey and not spiraling about anything."
Heath stared at me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard. No one had asked me that recently.
"I'm weird today," I admitted. "But that's pretty normal."
"The other guys said you were..." He trailed off, rethinking his word choice.
"A disaster? A feral Muppet with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel?"
"They said you were the heart of the team."
I blinked.
"They—what?"
"Hog said it. When I first got here. He said you were loud and weird and kind of a disaster, but you were the heart of this team, and I should watch how you treat people." Heath shrugged. "So I'm watching."
Something cracked open in my chest—not painfully, but like a window being pushed up. Fresh air rushing in.
"Well," I said, "don't watch too close. You'll see all the duct tape holding everything together."
A real smile spread across Heath's face.
"I think that's the point," he said.
Coach's whistle saved me from having to respond. We skated back to our positions. Heath's passes were still a little off, but something in his shoulders had loosened.
I'd done that.
The realization sat weird in my stomach—unfamiliar, like wearing someone else's jersey. I was used to being the one who needed steadying. Being on the other side of it was like standing on freshly Zambonied ice.
It wasn't bad.
Practice ended the way it always did—Coach's whistle, chirping, and a slow migration toward the locker room.
I should have been part of that migration. Instead, I sat on the bench, slowly unlacing my skates.
Adrian hadn't left yet.
