By the third round, the more skilled players adjusted. They checked the angles before committing. Overall movement slowed.
It didn’t matter. They were still arriving late.
“Damn,” Kieran said when we reset. “You're aggressive as hell, Pratt. Maybe you should be a forward.”
“Then who would guard the net?"
He laughed. Heath shook his head and handed me a bottle of water.
“Of course you’re good at this,” he said. “It’s hockey wearing shoes.”
“It isn’t,” I said.
He looked at me for a second. “No?”
“No.”
He smiled and turned back toward the floor. The next round started.
Between games, everyone clustered near the wall, talking and comparing scores.
I stood with them, close enough to be included. I wasn't at the center, but I was part of the circle.
Heath said something to Kieran and reached across to tap his shoulder. Kieran leaned into it without breaking his sentence, still talking to the group.
"Fuckin' a— Traffic on the damn Kennedy!"
Varga had arrived. In his first round, Heath, Kieran, and I ganged up and tagged him simultaneously.
He looked at each of us in turn, scowling. "I'm on your fucking team!"
Heath clapped him on the shoulder, and we worked together for the rest of the time.
We finished after five rounds. People peeled off in small groups.
“Same time next week?” Kieran asked.
“Yeah," Heath answered immediately.
He looked at me. “You in?”
“I’ll see,” I said.
He nodded, as if that were sufficient.
We stepped out into the night. The street was mostly empty.
“Good call,” Heath said. “You’re a wolf in there, Pratt.”
“It’s a controlled space.”
He laughed. “Everything is, for you.”
We split up in the parking lot and headed for our cars. The fourth-floor hallway was quiet when I returned home. There was no sound from Sully's place.
I unlocked my door and stepped inside, setting my keys down. I pulled out my phone. There were no messages.
Maybe the schedule had changed.
I typed a message to Sully:
Pratt:Are you working
I waited almost ten minutes for his response:
Sully:At Nora's.
