“I did the drill.”
“After arguing.”
“I was discussing.”
“You were testing.”
The words hit too accurately. I looked away, toward the line of cars, the mountains beyond the arena, anything less inconvenient than his face.
“I don’t know you,” I said.
“No.”
“And you don’t know me.”
“Not yet.”
Something about that not yet got under my skin.
I gave Tiny one last scratch and stepped back. “Look, Coach, if this is the part where you tell me I need to buy in, I’ve heard it. I show up when it matters.”
“You were late this morning.”
My temper sparked. “Seven minutes.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a moral failure.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
My mouth shut.
Reid’s voice stayed level. “I’m not interested in shaming you. I am interested in whether I can count on you.”
I hated how much worse that felt.
My phone buzzed again in my hand. I looked down automatically. Vanessa: Babe answer me. Navy or black?
Reid’s gaze dropped to the screen for half a second, then returned to my face. Not prying. Just noticing. He probably noticed everything.
“I can be counted on,” I said.
“Then be on time tomorrow.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That easy?”
“No. But it is that clear.”
The parking lot noise faded a little.
Clear.
Not easy. Clear.
I didn’t know why that distinction lodged somewhere behind my ribs. Maybe because people were always telling me things like they should be simple if I cared enough. Remember this. Finish that. Calm down. Pay attention. Stop interrupting. Stop being dramatic. Stop making excuses. As if wanting to do better and being able to do it every time were the same thing.
Reid didn’t soften. He also didn’t look disgusted.
