“Hey.”
Finn does not stop. “I know.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to say something about being careful. Or ask how I slept. Or tell me day by day.” He pushes through the door to the main corridor.
I follow. “I handled it wrong yesterday.”
“Which part?”
“The part where you snapped at me in front of the room.”
Finn slows but does not stop. “I snapped because you barked at me like I was twelve.”
“Yeah. That.”
“Cool. So just that part.”
“Finn.”
He turns around.
He looks young. Not soft-young. The kind of young that is running on something and starting to notice the tank.
“I don’t want to be the guy you manage,” Finn says. “I’m aware I’m the guy you manage. I just don’t want to be.”
“That’s fair.”
Finn blinks. He has not expected fair.
“I made a bad call,” I say. “Not getting you to Maren sooner. The way I talked to you before that.”
“It’s fine.”
“You just said it wasn’t.”
Finn’s mouth works. “I’m twenty-three and I’m dizzy and I don’t know if it’s permanent, and the playoffs are happening, and you’re looking at me like you already know how this ends.”
“I don’t.”
“You look like you do.”
“I look like I’m trying to figure out how not to make it worse.”
Finn stares at me.
“That is just what my face does,” I say.
A beat.
Something in Finn’s expression loosens.
“It’s a bad face,” he says.
“I know.”
“Zach told me week one.”
