“Both can be true.”
“Did Reid scare you into literacy?”
The name hit weird. Not bad. Just too direct.
“No,” I said, too fast.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
I got up before she could do whatever witchcraft she did where she asked one mild question and somehow knew your taxes, childhood wounds, and favorite cereal.
Practice was fine.
Actually, practice was better than fine, which annoyed me because I wanted something external to blame for the way my head kept tracking the rink for him.
Where was he standing? Was he watching this drill? Did he see me hold underneath instead of flying the zone like my skates were on fire? When he corrected Lowell, I listened like it was secretly for me. When he spoke to Milo, I got irritated that Milo got to hear that low, controlled voice up close even thoughthe correction was about turning the puck over like a golden retriever with anxiety.
Ridiculous.
I was ridiculous.
At the end of practice, Coach had a short conversation with the assistants near the bench. I took three extra shots I didn’t need, missed the net on two because I wasn’t actually looking at it, then pretended I had stayed out for skill work.
Roman skated by slowly. “You done being inspirational?”
“I’m working.”
“You’re lurking.”
“Near what?”
He looked toward the bench, then back at me.
I hated him.
In the locker room, Milo was holding court about how he could absolutely survive one night in the wilderness.
“With what supplies?” Lowell asked.
“A knife. Matches. Protein bars. Confidence.”
Sokolov said, “You die in six hours.”
“Why does everyone keep saying six? Give me at least twelve.”
“Because after six we stop looking,” Roman said.
I laughed with everyone else, but half my attention stayed snagged on the hallway outside, listening for Coach’s voice. That was the first time I noticed it clearly enough to name.
I was waiting for him.
Not for instructions. Not for a correction. Just him.
The thought made me miss Benny asking whether I needed my steel checked, then I had to ask him to repeat it, which made him look at me like I was one more loose screw in a building full of them.
I got through media. I said the right things. Tessa gave me a small approving nod when I did not make a joke about Sokolov’s “team identity” answer sounding like it had been assembled by robots. I should have felt accomplished.
Instead, when everyone scattered afterward, I found myself taking the long route back through the equipment hall.
