"Good practice."
"Was it? I feel like I spent most of it falling on my face and communing with machinery."
"You were good with the kid."
Right. Heath.
I'd almost forgotten about Heath, which was absurd because I'd spent half the practice with him. My brain had decided to allocate all available memory to Adrian's hands keeping me from falling, and that thing Hog said to Adrian that I couldn't hear.
"He's nervous," I said. "First time up. I remember what that was like."
"Mmm." Hog's gaze assessed me. "Just don't overwhelm him."
"Overwhelm who?"
"The new kid."
I grinned, seizing the opening. "Which one? Heath or the camera guy?"
One of Hog's eyebrows rose. Slowly. Danger level: medium-high.
"Either," he said.
I waited for him to elaborate and explain what he meant. Maybe he would tell me what he said to Adrian.
He didn't.
He clapped me on the shoulder—the same spot he'd touched on the bench—and headed for the door.
"Get some sleep, Pickle. Game tomorrow."
"Yes, Dad," I called after him.
He flipped me off without turning around.
I sat there, staring at the grain of the wooden bench between my knees.
Don't overwhelm the new kid.
He meant Heath. Obviously, he meant Heath.
That was what Hog meant.
I grabbed my towel and headed for the showers.
The water was too hot—I turned it that way on purpose, letting it scald until my skin went pink and my thoughts went blurry. Steam filled the stall. I closed my eyes.
Adrian's hand on my elbow.
You okay?
He'd looked at me across the ice after Hog walked away. That complicated expression I couldn't read.
I pressed my forehead against the wet tile.
You're fine, I told myself.This is a normal reaction to a completely normal amount of physical contact and professional interaction. You are not developing a catastrophic crush on a documentary filmmaker who's going to leave in three days and probably thinks you're an amusing disaster.
The hot water ran down my back.
