I worked until my eyes burned. Practice notes. Media schedule. Power-play adjustments. A message from Owen asking whether I had “emotionally bonded with Denver yet or just intimidated it into submission.” I ignored him.
At 10:18, my phone buzzed.
Holloway.
Coach, on the second breakout option for tomorrow, if their F1 cuts low, do you want me underneath support or stretching weak side?
I read it once.
Then again.
It was a hockey question. A reasonable one. Something he could have asked in the morning, or asked Roman, or brought to video. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing personal.
Still, I sat there with the phone in my hand longer than necessary.
Because he’d asked me.
I replied: Underneath if Lowell is pressured on first touch. Weak side only if he has clean possession. Start with support. Earn the stretch.
The response came almost immediately.
Got it. Writing it down so I don’t turn it into interpretive dance tomorrow.
A reluctant laugh left me.
I typed: Appreciated.
Three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.
Then: Also confirmed media for Thursday already. With actual words. Tessa looked suspicious.
I looked at that message until the screen dimmed.
Professional. Harmless. A player updating his coach because that coach had given him a standard.
That was all.
I answered: Good. Keep doing that.
This time, there was a pause before his reply.
Will do.
I set the phone face down on the table.
Tiny lifted his head from the couch and looked at me.
“Don’t start,” I said.
He sighed and dropped his head again.
I sat in the quiet house, with Olivia delayed in another city and tomorrow’s practice plan open in front of me, and admitted something I couldn’t put in any player file.
Jace Holloway cared what I thought.
Worse, I was starting to care how carefully I handled that.
Chapter 5
