“Oh. Um.” There’d been a moment there, when he’d saidroutine with Lila, that myKteerhad rumbled, thinking he suspected what I’d been doing all weekend. “Yeah. This week we’re going to start on final choreography. She says she understands enough now to know how it’ll look.”
“Good!” He was already backing away, toward where his assistant waited by the large SUV. “We’re all excited to see it, and it’s going to be great for the youth league. It’s good to have you back, son!”
So yeah, I was in a thoughtful frame of mind as I made my way to the gym.
Good to have you back.
Was Fairbanks aware how much I’d pulled back from the team after that last disastrous game? How hard it had been for me to join them again during the summer training? How ashamed I was, and how much I’d do to atone?
“Hey, Kardok, get your ass over here and spot me,” Torrk called out as soon as I entered, and I remembered whatLila had told me on Friday night: that what I’d done during that game had beennormal, expected. None of the guys had seemed to blame me for it, even if I blamed myself.
Huh.
I dropped my bag and went to do as Torrk had asked. He was doing something with a resistance band that I was fairly certain wasn’t its intended use, looped around both ankles and one wrist, hopping in a pattern only he understood.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Goalie agility,” he said, without breaking rhythm.
“That’s not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing. I invented it.” He hopped sideways, nearly took out a weight rack, and didn’t seem to notice. “It’s called the Torrk Method. I’m going to write a book.”
“No one will read it.”
“Everyonewill read it.” He pointed at me with his free hand while continuing to hop. “You look weird.”
I grabbed the bar above Torrk’s head and settled my hands. “I look normal.”
“No, you look—” He stopped hopping and squinted at me. “Happy. That’s what it is. That’s the weird thing.”
From the bench press, Dakvaar looked up briefly, assessed me, looked back down, quirked a brow, and resumed his set without comment. That look had meant that he most definitely had a thought, but wasn’t going to share it in front of everyone.
Jord came through the door at that point, still pulling his shirt on, hair going in four directions. “Sorry, sorry—” He stopped when he saw me. His face split into a grin wide enough to be dangerous. “Ohshit. Kardok gotlaid.”
“Get on the treadmill,” I said.
“You absolutely got laid. All weekend, looks like.” He dropped onto a bench and stared at me with the focused delight of someone who had found his entertainment for the morning. “Was it—?” He glanced around as if checking for coaches. “Was it the?—?”
“Get on the treadmill, Jord.”
“It was the figure skater.” He said it with the reverence of a male announcing the answer to a very important question. “It wasabsolutelythe figure skater.”
Dakvaar completed his set, sat up, and wiped his face with a towel. “Obviously,” he said, expression neutral. “Have you seen his eyes?”
Jord pointed at Dakvaar. “See, evenheknows.”
“I’m not discussing this,” I said.
“You don’t have to discuss it,” Torrk said cheerfully, resuming his incomprehensible hopping. “Your face is discussing it. Your face is giving a wholelectureon the subject.”
Bardon came in from the hallway then, coffee in hand, and took in the scene with the expression of a captain who had been managing idiots for years and had made his peace with it. He looked at me once, looked at Jord’s grin, looked at Dakvaar, who was silently lifting again, and sat down.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Bardon said.
“You were thinking it.”
