"You've been studying my forehead?"
"I've been studying all of you. Pay attention."
I look at the path ahead and the back of my neck is warm despite the winter air.
He doesn't say anything else. Just walks beside me with his hands in his pockets and his shoulder occasionally finding mine. After a minute, I pull one hand free and reach for his without really thinking about it. He looks down when our fingers slide together but doesn’t say anything. Just adjusts his grip once so it’s more comfortable and keeps walking like this is normal. And I am acutely, embarrassingly aware of every single point of contact to the point I find myself shifting closer too.
Practice is good. Better than good. The team has found a rhythm that hasn't been there all season and Fitch is almost annoyingly pleased with himself, blowing his whistle at things that don't need the whistle just as an excuse to be able to yell something at us.
Rhys is everywhere. Center, where he belongs, reading plays before they develop, making the right decision every time. He's locked in and it's — watching Rhys like this is one of the more interesting things I've had to deal with this season. The way he moves when it's just instinct — effortless and precise and focused. He catches me watching him at one point. Just holds my eye for one beat too long and then skates away and it lands deep in my stomach and I turn back to my drill. I used to hate when he would catch me looking, but now it feels right.
Kowalski appears at my shoulder.
"Friday," he says.
"I know."
"We win Friday we play Eldridge next."
"I know, Kowalski."
He looks sideways at me. Then at Rhys. Then back to me. "Hegonna be okay?" I watch Rhys thread a pass through two defenders that has no business landing where it lands. Bryce collects it and buries it and the guys react and Rhys just skates back to position like he does it in his sleep, no big deal.
"Yeah," I say. "He'll be okay."
Film session is at four. Twenty guys in varying states of consciousness. Rhys sits next to me. This is new. He used to take the seat farthest from mine as a matter of principle. Now he drops into the chair beside me, opens his phone, and looks at the screen.
Cooper’s asleep within twelve minutes, hood up and arms crossed like he died peacefully. Bennett’s sitting there with a notebook in his lap actually taking notes. Real notes. Every few seconds he nods seriously at the screen like Coach is revealing the meaning of life instead of a failed zone entry. Kowalski’s watching film like it’s the single most important thing he’s ever seen.
Coach pauses the clip. “What’s wrong here?”
Bryce raises his hand immediately. “Me, Coach.”
A couple guys laugh.
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose.
“At least you’re honest.”
Bryce flips him off behind his back.
Another clip starts rolling.
Cooper wakes up and nods toward the screen. “That right there was kind of sexy.”
“That right there,” Ben says, “is actually Kowalski missing coverage.”
"He was following his heart,” Cooper replies. “Don't listen to them, buddy. You looked great, though.”
My phone buzzes.
Rhys:
that's their weak side center btw
I look at him. He's staring at the footage, an expression of complete concentration, totally innocent.
Jamie:
