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I fold the paper in half, carefully, along the crease he already made. I put it in the back pocket of my jeans.

"Okay," I say. "I'll follow your rules."

He looks up, surprised.

"On one condition," I add.

"No."

"You don't even know what it is."

"I know it's going to be stupid."

"Then I'll say it fast. You say my name." I hold up one finger. "Once a day. That's it. Not Castel, not kid, not rookie, not hey. Rémy. One time a day, and I'll be the best roommate in the history of the league. I'll be so quiet you'll forget I'm here. I'll fold my shirts into squares."

"You'll never fold your shirts into squares."

"I'll fold one shirt into a square. As a treat."

He rubs a hand over his face. It's a big hand, scarred across the knuckles, and I can hear the rasp of his stubble under it.

"This is a negotiation now," he says into his palm.

"Everything's a negotiation. My mom's a real estate agent."

"Your mom sells houses in Rimouski."

"She's very good at it." I lean forward. "Once a day. Your choice when. You can say it at breakfast. You can say it right before the lights go out, like a prayer."

He drops his hand and looks at me. I've figured out that this is how he thinks: he goes completely still, like a computer loading, and you can almost hear the fan running behind his eyes.

"Fine," he says.

"Fine?"

"Fine. Once a day." He turns back to the desk. "Not today. Today's over."

"It's six-fifteen!"

"Today's over, Castel."

Team dinner is at a steakhouse two blocks away, in a private room in the back with a long table and red leather chairs. The seating's not assigned, but it might as well be. The veterans take one end, the young guys take the other, and Moretti and the coaches sit at a smaller table by the door like chaperones at a school dance.

I sit next to Sorel. Hale sits at the veterans' end, between Webb and Kowal.

For a while it's fine. The steak's good. Sorel is explaining the Saskatchewan podcast to Adeyemi, who's horrified. I'm eating mashed potatoes out of a little silver bowl and not thinking about anything.

Then Brandt, at the other end, says loud enough for everyone to hear, "Hey, Cap. How's the new roomie? He braid your hair yet?"

A few guys laugh. Not most, but a few. Kowal smiles into his wine.

The whole table's watching Hale now. I'm watching him too. I've got a piece of steak on my fork halfway to my mouth, and I don't put it down, because if I put it down it means I care.

Hale cuts a piece of steak. He chews it. He swallows.

"He gave me a list of rules," he says.

"He gave you a list?"