“Fuck you, Volkov. You were dying too.”
“I was breathing heavy. Is different than dying.”
Mace dumped a water bottle over his own head, the water streaming down his face. “Coach wasn't kidding. That was some full-metal-jacket shit.”
“Full metal what?” Benny asked.
“Means we just got our asses handed to us and somehow we're grateful for it.” Mace grinned through the water dripping off his beard. “I fucking love it.”
Tate was sulking in his stall, and Rook noticed. “Something to say, Hallowell?”
“No, Cap.”
“Good. Because he was right. You pinched when you shouldn't have.”
“I know.”
“Then fix it.” Rook's voice wasn't harsh, just final. The captain had spoken.
I sat down and started unlacing my skates, my hands were shaking from exertion, and told myself it was just adrenaline. My shoulders ached. My hips felt loose in that good-tired way.
“He's gonna kill us,” Finn groaned from his spot on the floor.
“Good,” Rook said, pulling off his jersey. “We need it.”
“Speak for yourself,” Finn muttered. “I'm young. I'm beautiful. I don't deserve this abuse.”
“You deserve worse,” Mercer said, flicking a piece of tape at the rookie's head. “Baby's first real practice.”
“That was not my first real practice.”
“Mitchell's practices were yoga sessions compared to this.”
Finn considered that. “Okay, fair.”
I stripped out of my gear and headed for the showers, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders and wash away the practice and the noise and the constant fucking pressure of being watched.
When I came out, most of the guys were gone. Just Rook and Benny packing up, talking quietly about the new systems. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, pulling my hood up like I could disappear inside it.
The hallway hit me after the heat of the showers: cold concrete, fluorescent white, the faint bite of ice that never fully left the lower level. I had my head down, hood up, already halfway gone inside my own head, which is probably why I didn't see him until I walked straight into him.
I stumbled back half a step, bag nearly slipping off my shoulder. He caught my elbow to steady me, then immediately let go.
“Sorry,” Coach said, voice even. “Didn't see you.”
“My fault,” I said automatically, even though it wasn't. “Wasn't paying attention.”
We stood there for a second, too close in the narrow hallway, and I realized three things at once:
One, he smelled like coffee and something clean, soap maybe, nothing expensive or trying too hard.
Two, he was exactly my height, which meant when I met his eyes I was looking straight into them, no angle, no escape.
Three, I needed to say something before this got weird.
“Hell of a first practice, Coach,” I said, and it came out sharper than I meant it to. “You always run conditioning like we're training for the Olympics?”
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “That was light. Wait until next week.”
