I want to snap back. I want to bury Evan in a corner drill until the defenseman remembers hierarchy.
Instead, I look at the ice.
Evan is irritating.
He is also right more often than I enjoy.
“Run it again,” I say. “Same entry. Roman supports low. I take the late trailer. You go if the lane opens. If it closes, you move the puck.”
Evan blinks once, surprised by being trusted in advance.
“You heard him,” Coach Sully calls.
They run it.
Evan goes.
The lane closes.
For a beat, every bad instinct in the room holds its breath.
Then Evan slides the puck back to me, I move it across to Roman, and the shot hits mesh before the goalie finishes pushing over.
The bench makes noise.
Evan glides by with a grin. “See? Nurturing presence.”
“Do not make me regret personal growth.”
“Too late. I’m inspired.”
I laugh under my breath.
After practice, the locker room tries to act normal around me and fails. Colt asks if I want food. Kowalski waits by the hall like a silent brick wall. Finn drops onto the bench beside me, bruise still fading along his temple.
“You good?” Finn asks.
“You?”
“I asked first.”
“I’m great.”
“You look like you want to kill a vending machine.”
One side of my mouth ticks. “Specific.”
“I read people.”
“No, you annoy them until they confess.”
“Works on Colt.”
“Colt confesses to things he didn’t do.”
Finn grins, then sobers. “Glad your mom’s okay.”
“Thanks.”
