Did Tolrek have the same tongue? Just like humans, orcs were not all the same, though they all had green skin and tusks. But they came from various communities, with different cultures and backgrounds.
And maybe different tongues.
It didn’t take long for me to flip back to Tolrek’s plays.
I tagged a sequence I’d already tagged once before.
Later today, Tolrek would walk through my door and we’d discuss the tape session I’d prepared.
This was my job. I was good at my job. Why did I feel so nervous about it, then?
A shift in the light from the corridor made me look up. Tolrek stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“Are we still planning a session for today at four?” His voice came out even.
He could’ve confirmed this with the schedule posted in the locker room or asked any of the three assistant coaches whose offices were closer than mine.
“Yes, today. At four,” I said.
He nodded and left.
I dragged my gaze back to the center screen. This was the second time this week he’d appeared in my doorway with a question that hadn’t required me specifically.
I returned to the footage, and decided coffee would give me something to do with my hands. Then I might not stare at his footage or the toy on my desk.
The common area between the ice and the locker room was neutral territory, a place where staff and players overlapped without anyone feeling territorial about it. I had access and used it often enough that few looked twice when I walked in.
Crim sat at the big table, post-morning skate, still in practice gear with his hair damp. He held a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other, and was scrolling through screens.
He looked up when I entered. “Haley. Tell me you have good news about my positioning stats.”
“Define good.”
“Anything that doesn’t involve you being right and me being wrong again?” His laugh came out easy, and I was glad. No hard feelings, then.
I reached for a mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker. “I don’t have updated stats yet. You’re safe for now.”
“That’s almost comforting.” He set his phone down. “I owe you an apology, by the way, about that weak-side call in the meeting. You were right. I watched the full sequence and saw what you’d caught and I missed.”
The coffee pot hissed on the burner. I kept my attention on it instead of him. “You don’t owe me anything. You saw the footage and adjusted your read. That’s the whole point of the process.”
“Still. I was wrong. You were right. I’m saying it out loud so we’re clear.”
I looked at him.
“We’re clear,” I said.
“Good.” He looked down at his phone again. “How’s the prep for the first exhibition game looking? You finding anything useful?”
“Their power play kill has a tell. I’m building the sequence now.”
“Better you than me. I’d rather just hit people and let you do the thinking.”
“That’s a lie. You think more than half the roster.”
His low laugh rang out. “You’re right. I’d rather hit people and also think, but pretend I’m not thinking so they underestimate me.”
I smiled and turned to lean against the counter, a steaming coffee mug in my hand. “That sounds more accurate.”
