I nod like this is a serious criticism, because it is.
Then I keep walking.
The locker room is mostly empty. Isaac is still there, fighting with his tie in front of the mirror.
"Top button first," I say.
He turns. "I know."
"Do you?"
"No."
I step behind him and fix the knot with two motions. My hands know ties the way they know tape. Procedure. Useful.
Isaac watches me in the mirror. "Did you decide?"
"Yes."
"Are you staying?"
"Yes."
His shoulders drop half an inch. Relief, immediate and unhidden. Young men are very inefficient with feelings.
"Good," he says.
"Don't make it weird."
"Too late."
I tighten the knot. "There."
"Thanks."
I pick up my bag.
At the door, he says, "For what it's worth, I don't think I'm ready."
I look back.
He swallows. "To take your spot."
There are several answers. None of them easy.
"Nobody is ready for a spot," I say. "You play until it fits."
He nods.
"And Hale?"
"Yeah?"
"Stop tying knots you can't get out of."
His smile is small. "That hockey advice or life advice?"
"Yes."
