Not pride. Not relief.
Recognition.
I didn’t just like hearing him say it.
I liked knowing exactly where I stood.
That thought followed me through the rest of practice. It followed me into the shower, where the water was too hot and the room too loud and everyone’s voices bounced off tile until I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. It followed me while Benny asked if my skates felt right and I answered too sharply, then had to circle back two minutes later and apologize because Benny did not deserve my bullshit.
He accepted with a grunt. “You’re all feral after practice.”
“Still.”
“Yeah.” He shoved a roll of tape at me. “Take that before Brooks steals it and claims it’s for charity.”
In the locker room, Roman caught me before I could escape.
“Talk,” he said.
“No.”
“I didn’t ask for a TED Talk. I asked for one functional sentence.”
“I’m fine.”
“That sentence is banned.”
I shoved my hoodie into my bag, missed, picked it up, shoved it again. “I’m working through some stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“The kind where if I knew how to explain it, I’d be explaining it.”
Roman’s face changed a little. Less goalie, more friend. “Is Reid pushing too hard?”
“No.”
Too fast. Too sure.
He noticed.
I zipped my bag with unnecessary violence. “He’s not the problem.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you’re not asking the next question.”
“I’m always asking the next question.”
“Well, don’t.”
Roman leaned back against the stall beside mine, arms loose. He didn’t look offended. That made me feel worse.
“Fine,” he said. “But if this turns into you detonating in public, I’m charging for cleanup.”
