“Switch,” I called out.
Both defensemen adjusted, and the gap closed, cutting the play off.
The coaches didn’t make a production of it, though one of the assistants wrote something on his tablet.
Crim came off the ice at the end of the drill and paused beside me.
“Good call.” His low laugh rang out. “I would’ve scored if you hadn’t tightened up that line.”
“Yup.” The tape session had shown me the evidence, but the ice was where it became real.
Late afternoon, I passed Haley’s office on the way to the coaches’ corridor. I had an errand in that direction. I stopped at her open doorway and placed one hand on the frame.
She looked up.
“I have a schedule question,” I said. “About the next tape session. Is Thursday good?”
Her face shifted, softening, but she smoothed it fast. “Thursday works.”
“Same time?”
“Four o’clock?”
“Yes.”
The excuse for the question was thin, and we both knew it.
I turned and continued down the hall. Halfway along the corridor, I fully processed the look on her face. She’d wanted to ask me to step inside.
What would I give to be able to do that?
Everything.
I was heading out at the end of the day when Jim called out to me. Stopping in the lobby, I turned back.
“Tolrek. Glad I caught you.” He strode over to stand beside me. “I saw that positioning call this morning, the switch in the neutral zone. That’s the kind of read we need and exactly what we brought you here for.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re settling in well. I can see it on the ice.” Genuine warmth came through in his voice. He clapped my shoulder. “Do you have a minute to talk? I want to run something by you.”
We strode together down the corridor toward the coaches’ offices. Jim talked about defensive pairings, about how he was thinking of adjusting the rotation for the next game. The usual stuff.
We turned the corner.
Haley stood outside her office, her back to us, struggling with the door. Her laptop bag had slipped off her shoulder, and she was trying to juggle it, her phone, and her keys at the same time.
“Haley,” Jim called out.
She turned.
The laptop bag dropped.
I closed the distance in a few strides, catching the bag before it hit the floor. Muscle memory. The same reflex that made me position myself between a forward and the net. I straightened, holding her bag, standing close enough to see the exact moment her breath caught. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.
Too close.
“Good reflexes,” Jim said behind me, his tone light and amused.
