“You were in the parking lot.”
“Still counts.”
Roman’s gaze flicked briefly to me. Not suspicious. Measuring. He had spent enough years around Jace to know when the kid was running from something.
I blew the whistle before he could dig deeper.
The rest of the session was the best I’d seen Holloway in three days. Focused, prepared, responsive. Still impulsive in flashes. Still mouthy when Milo botched a two-on-one and blamed the pass. But he caught himself faster. Came back quicker. He listened like my words had hooks in them.
That should have pleased me.
It did.
It also concerned me.
Influence was part of coaching. If a player didn’t care what you thought, you were just a man in a tracksuit holding a whistle. But this felt delicate in a way I didn’t like. Jace wasn’t simply adjusting to instruction. He was trying to erase the earlier mistake from my mind.
At eleven-forty-six, Tessa appeared beside the glass and held up her phone.
Jace saw her.
He skated over without being called, leaned on the boards, and said something I couldn’t hear through the glass. Tessa’s eyebrows rose. Then she gave him a thumbs-up.
He’d confirmed.
With words, presumably.
I looked away before he caught me watching.
After practice, the locker room noise spilled into the hall while I reviewed notes with my assistants. Milo was arguing that the team needed a better coffee setup because “morale is a measurable performance factor.” Lowell asked if extra reps after practice made him look eager or desperate. Sokolov informed everyone he would rather be hit by a bus than attend another media workshop. Tessa told him she could arrange both if he missed his slot.
The team was alive around me. Messy, talented, exhausting. Mine to shape for as long as management let me.
I found Tiny near my office wearing a Blizzard towel like a cape.
Benny had vanished.
“Traitor,” I told the dog.
Tiny wagged his tail and looked past me.
I didn’t have to turn to know.
Jace came down the hall with his notebook tucked under one arm and the correct drill sheet sticking out of it. His hair was wet from the shower, and he looked tired in the particular way that came from sustained focus, not conditioning.
Tiny abandoned me so quickly the leash nearly burned my palm.
“Wow,” I said. “No loyalty at all.”
Jace dropped into a crouch and let Tiny shove that enormous head against his chest. “He’s got instincts.”
“He has crumbs in his beard and no shame.”
“Relatable.”
For the first time since the office, Jace smiled without it looking like armor. Tiny leaned into him so hard he had to brace a hand on the floor.
“You confirm media?” I asked.
