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Footsteps approached in the hall. Ford released him and stepped back before the person outside reached the door. The distance returned so quickly Cole felt foolish for believing they’d closed it at all.
TWENTY-TWO
The latch clicked before Ford reached the other side of the room. His breath locked halfway into his lungs. He backed into the table hard enough to rattle his phone, then moved around it, needing something solid between himself and Cole before the door opened. Cole hadn’t moved. He stood where Ford had left him, the hurt on his face disappearing behind something flat and unreadable as Halsey stepped into the room.
Halsey stopped with his laptop tucked against his side. His gaze moved from Cole to Ford, then settled somewhere over Ford’s shoulder. “I can come back.”
“No.” Ford heard how sharp it sounded. He crossed to the table and woke the monitor with a harder tap than it needed. “We’re done.”
Cole didn’t correct him, which was worse. “I’ll see you at home.”
Ford turned, but Cole was already passing Halsey in the doorway. Their shoulders nearly clipped. Halsey shifted aside, watching Cole go before he came in.
Halsey shut the door, leaving Ford alone with the look he’d given them and no believable way to pretend he hadn’t interrupted something. Ford’s pulse still hammered at the base of his throat. He couldn’t ask what Halsey had seen without confirming there was something to see, so he grabbed the remote and loaded the clips from practice before Halsey could speak.
The first opened on Halsey leaving his post before the puck moved below the goal line. Ford backed it up and played it again. “You’re chasing. Your eyes go first, then the rest of you follows.”
Halsey set the laptop down and took a seat. “I thought we were looking at the rush entries.”
“We’re looking at everything.”
Ford ran the clip again. He stopped it when Halsey’s skate cleared the post and pointed at the space he’d surrendered. Halsey leaned closer, elbows on his knees, and Ford talked him through the read. The work came easily once Ford started. It always did. There was a wrong movement on the screen and a way to correct it. Halsey asked one question, then another. Ford answered both without having to wonder what either meant.
Ford advanced to the next clip. Halsey kept his face toward the monitor, but his attention was somewhere else. Ford could feel it in the silence between them, in the questions Halsey had stopped asking.
“Your right skate,” Ford said. He let the play run. Halsey didn’t react when the shooter scored. “Did you see it?”
Halsey shifted in the chair. “Yeah.”
“No, you didn’t.” Ford backed up the clip, but the remote slipped against his damp palm. He caught it before it hit the floor and closed his grip around it. “Watch.”
Halsey opened his mouth, then looked back at the paused clip. He had never struggled this hard to argue with Ford about a save. His shoulders pulled tight before he finally made himself meet Ford’s eyes. “I didn’t see anything when I came in.”
Ford’s pulse kicked harder. Voices passed outside the room, close enough that Halsey could open the door and carry whatever he thought he’d seen straight into the locker room. “There was nothing to see.”
“Okay.”
The easy agreement made it worse. Halsey lowered his gaze to the floor, clearly willing to let Ford end the conversation there. Ford couldn’t. Once Halsey walked out, Ford would have no control over what the kid believed or who he told.
“What do you think you interrupted?” Ford asked.
Halsey took his time answering. “You and Englund were arguing.”
“We were.” Ford set the remote down before Halsey saw his grip shake. “So why tell me you didn’t see anything?”
Halsey looked toward the closed door. “Because you weren’t mad when I walked in. You looked scared.”
The observation went through Ford cold. “Scared of what?”
“Me seeing you with him. Whatever was happening before I came in. You’ve spent months telling me to quit guessing where the puck’s going and pay attention to what’s actually in front of me.”
Ford’s pulse struck hard beneath his jaw. “Nothing was happening.”
“Not when I walked in.” Halsey met his stare now, visibly wishing he were anywhere else. “The two of you are really careful about making sure everyone thinks you’re just roommates. But there’s more to it than that.” His gaze slipped toward the door Cole had gone through. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But you should talk to someone. Or talk to him.”
Ford’s stomach dropped. He searched Halsey’s face for a joke or accusation and found neither. There was only the same uncomfortable concern Halsey had worn since Cole left, which meant he wasn’t guessing. Somehow, Ford had already given him enough.
“Who told you?”
