Page 155 of On His Team

Halfway through a retrieval drill, I hear her voice from above the glass.

“Rowan.”

I look up.

She points two fingers toward her eyes, then toward my left shoulder.

Second look.

I nod.

Next rep, the puck goes behind me. I get the first scan before I turn, see Owens cutting low, then force myself to look again instead of deciding the play early. Their forechecker changes direction. I don’t. The pass goes up the middle and out clean.

Aspen doesn’t say anything.

At this point, I know when I get it right. A month ago, the second look felt like something I had to manually insert into a sequence I’d done the same way for years. Now it happens often enough that sometimes I don’t realize I’ve done it until the puck is already moving the other way. Not every time. Enough.

Coach blows the drill dead and resets us. “Again.”

By the time practice ends, I’m tired in the good way. Not dead. Just used. We have video at six, so most of the guys shower and leave for a few hours. I take longer than I need to because Tate is blocking half the room looking for a glove he swears somebody moved, even though it is eventually discovered underneath his own bag.

I get dressed, shove my wet stuff into my locker, and head down the hall. Donovan is coming toward me with a clipboard.

“Travel room’s locked after five,” he tells me.

“Got it.”

“Tell Blue.”

I ask, “Why me?”

“Because he doesn’t listen to me.”

I say, “He doesn’t listen to me either.”

Donovan keeps walking. “Tell him anyway.”

I smile and continue toward the exit. I make it past the equipment-room door. Maybe two steps. Then I stop, turn around, and go back.

Gianna is behind the counter with a plastic bin of blade guards in front of her and a sheet of paper taped beside it. She has her hair twisted up out of her face. She doesn’t look up immediately, so I lean on the doorway and wait. She compares one number on a guard to something on the sheet, makes a mark, and reaches for the next. A few seconds later, she feels me there and glances up. Her expression changes instantly.

“What’d you break?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

She looks at my hands, then down toward my skates like she expects to find damage anyway. “Then what do you need?”

I smile.

She studies my face. “Did you come down here just to see me?”

“Yeah.”

Gianna goes quiet.

It lasts long enough that I start smiling more.

Her eyes narrow, and she puts the blade guard down. “You saw me twelve hours ago.” Her smile starts despite her attempt to keep it under control. “That’s needy.”