“No.”
Holloway huffed a laugh, small and tired.
The lounge settled around us. No cameras. No teammates. No performance required yet.
I opened the practice plan but didn’t start. “I noticed yesterday that when instructions are broad, you push at them.”
His eyes narrowed a little, defensive on instinct.
I continued before he could swing. “When they’re specific, you process them faster.”
He said nothing.
“I’m going to give you specifics when I can. You’re going to tell me when something isn’t clear before it becomes a problem.”
His fingers tightened around the pen. “That an order?”
“It’s a way to make the day easier.”
He looked down at the notebook, at his own messy list, then nodded once. “Okay.”
One word. No grin. No challenge.
I felt an unexpected satisfaction, quiet and solid.
Not because he’d done what I told him. That was the job. Players followed instructions or they didn’t play.
This was different.
He had tried. Set alarms. Arrived early. Put the phone away. Written the expectations down where he could see them. It was more effort than the file gave him credit for, and it had probably cost him more than most people would understand.
Footsteps sounded down the hall. The day was coming. Soon the lounge would fill with voices, chirps, coffee, equipment staff moving through, the normal machinery of a team.
Holloway flipped his pen once, caught it badly, dropped it, and muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.
I picked it up from near my shoe and set it back on the table.
His eyes flicked to mine. “Thanks.”
I nodded and stood before the moment could become anything larger than it was.
In my office, I closed the door, set the practice plan on my desk, and stood there longer than necessary.
I had reviewed twenty-three players last night.
I had notes on systems, personnel, chemistry, conditioning, travel schedules, staff responsibilities, injury risks, and media obligations.
Yet the detail sitting sharpest in my mind was Jace Holloway at 8:04 in the morning, fighting himself hard enough to show up early.
I took a drink of coffee gone bitter in the cup.
Then I admitted, with some discomfort, that I had spent far more time thinking about one player than any coach reasonably should.
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
JACE
