Practice was a disaster.Tarmek missed three passes, overshot two goals, and nearly decapitated Kowalski with a slap shot that went wildly off-target. By the time they broke for water, the entire team was staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Cap." Rognar skated up beside him, expression carefully neutral. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"Because you just shot the puck into the upper stands. Twice."
"I'm aware."
"And you're usually... not that." Rognar made a vague gesture. "Off."
"I'm having an inconsistent practice. It happens."
"Does it? Because I've known you three years, and I've literally never seen you?—"
"Rognar."
"Right. Shutting up." But the forward’s expression said he'd be revisiting this conversation later.
He skated to the bench and grabbed his water bottle, forcing himself to focus. The problem was obvious. His thoughts kept drifting to Edie, to the camper, to the lights and heaters and all the other ways he was trying to build a cage of comfort around her.
Not a cage,he corrected himself.A home. A reason to stay.
But what if she didn't want a home?
What if all his careful provisions just made it easier for her to leave—knowing her camper was safe, knowing she could return to her nomadic life whenever she chose?
"Hey." A hand landed on his shoulder, and Kowalski looked unusually serious. "Whatever's eating you, don't bring it to the ice. We've got games next week."
"I know."
"Do you? Because that last shot could've killed me."
"It was six feet wide."
"Five and a half. I measured."
Despite everything, he felt his lips twitch.
"I'll do better," he said.
"You always do." Kowalski squeezed his shoulder once, then skated away.
He finished his water and returned to practice with renewed focus. He couldn't control Edie. He couldn't make her stay or force her to want what he wanted. But he could control this. The ice. The puck. The familiar rhythm of the game.
By the end of practice, his performance had improved to acceptable levels. Not his best, but not the disaster of the first hour. Coach gave him a long look but said nothing.
Small mercies.
He showered and changed quickly, then headed towards the mural site without consciously deciding to do so. His body knew where it wanted to be.
Edie was still perched on the scaffolding, brush in hand, working on a section that depicted the team in motion. The figures were rough still, shapes and shadows rather than detailed portraits, but he could already see the energy in them. The way she'd captured the violence and grace of hockey.
She must have heard him approach, because she glanced down and smiled.
"How was practice?"
"Fine."
