“It failed.”
“Because Lowell was late.”
“Because you left the structure.”
His shoulders lifted with a breath he did not release. For a second I thought he might keep going in front of everyone.
I almost wanted him to.
That was the first warning I ignored.
Instead, he turned hard, skated to the gate, and stepped off. His movements were controlled enough that most people would have missed the damage. I didn’t. He sat at the far end of the bench, helmet still on, gloves planted on his knees, staring at the ice like I had taken more than a rep from him.
I waited ten seconds.
“Next group.”
Practice resumed.
It was the right call. It had been measured, proportionate, temporary. A consequence, not a spectacle. I brought him back after two rotations and said only, “Do it correctly.”
He did.
The rest of practice ran clean because everyone in the building understood the line now, including me.
Afterward, I told Benny to send Holloway to my office when he was done.
Roman heard. He looked from me to Jace, then back. There was no accusation in his face, which made it worse. Only calculation.
Fifteen minutes later, Jace knocked once and came in without waiting for my answer.
He had showered. His hair was wet, curling at the longer pieces on top, and he wore a team hoodie with the sleeves shoved to his elbows. His hands were empty. No notebook. No pen. That was deliberate.
I closed the office door.
He tracked the movement, then looked back at me. “If this is about the drill, I know what you’re going to say.”
“Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I didn’t ask what you’d rather do.”
His eyes sharpened. “Coach.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
No delay. No muttered comment. No performance.
The room changed so fast I felt it in my teeth.
Jace felt it too. His fingers curled against his thighs, then flattened. He looked at me like he wanted to blame me for the fact that he had obeyed.
I stayed standing behind my desk because sitting felt like giving ground I was not ready to give. “You’re not here because you made a read.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
