That was the first honest thing I let myself think.
I expected a knock. A text. A pause in my doorway with his hands in his hoodie pocket and that look on his face like he wanted direction but hated that he wanted it. After what had happened in the hotel room, after the line we crossed and the rules we made, I expected Jace to seek the structure immediately. Maybe because he needed it. Maybe because I needed proof he still wanted it.
He did not come.
The irritation was irrational and immediate.
It was not professional disappointment. It had nothing to do with his performance, his schedule, his compliance with team standards. It was personal. A hot, quiet scrape under the ribs that said he left without checking in.
I hated that reaction.
I hated that I had no public right to it and only a complicated private one.
I walked to the locker room doorway just as Jace disappeared down the hall toward the players’ parking lot, bag over one shoulder, phone in his hand. He was alone. He looked down at the screen, then shoved it into his pocket without typing.
For half a second, he slowed.
Not stopped.
Slowed.
As if he felt me behind him.
Then he kept walking.
I remained in the doorway until he turned the corner.
“Coach?”
I looked back. Tessa stood near the media room with a box of credentials under one arm and a coffee in the other hand. Her gaze flicked from me to the empty hall and back.
“Need something?” I asked.
“No.” She adjusted the box. “Just making sure you know tomorrow’s availability is moved to after practice, not before. I sent the update.”
“I saw it.”
“Great.”
She did not move right away.
Tessa was not intrusive. She was worse. She was observant and patient.
Finally she said, “Long road trip.”
“Yes.”
“Good win, though.”
“It was.”
Her mouth pressed into a line that might have been sympathy if she were less disciplined. “Get some sleep.”
“I will.”
She gave me a look that said she doubted it, then left.
I went back into my office, shut down my computer, and made myself leave.
