“And?”
“And what?”
“What did you see?”
I didn’t sense any performance in his question. He wanted to know what I’d noticed, the same way he’d wanted to know which part of my job I didn’t like. I could’ve deflected or said something generic about his defensive structure or his gap control. Those would be safe answers.
“You hesitate,” I said, meeting his eyes.
His face didn’t move. “Explain.”
“Half a second. Maybe less. Before contact. You didn’t used to.”
“You’ve watched old tape.”
“Some.”
“How old?”
“Three seasons.”
He leaned toward me. “What else?”
“You protect your left side more than your right. You retreat from hits you used to welcome. And your best games were never about your numbers.”
“No. They weren’t.” Acknowledgment came through in his voice, the kind someone gave when they’d already known the truth but hadn’t heard anyone else say it out loud.
“Your old team didn’t see it,” I said.
“No.”
“They should have.”
“They had their reasons.”
“Bad ones.”
The corner of his mouth moved, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “You don’t hold anything back, do you?”
“Not about people being measured in the wrong units.”
He tilted his head and stared at me. “What’s your name?”
My heart kicked against my ribs.
“Haley.”
“Tolrek.”
“I know.”
“Right. New guy.”
“You’re the most notable acquisition of the off-season.”
“That’s what they’re calling it?”
“That’s what thereporterscall it.”
