Page 170 of On His Team

I breathe out. “Okay.”

“I’ll call.”

I immediately say, “I can call.”

“I know.” He gives the clipboard back. “But I’m already holding the phone.”

I smile despite myself. “Thank you.”

“Go check skates.”

I do.

That night Rowan comes over after practice. He doesn’t ask whether I need help. He shows up with food and sits at my table while I work. When I talk, he listens. At one point, I explain the helmet situation in enough detail that I hear myself becoming insane.

“They found them,” he says. “So why are we still mad?”

“Because I didn’t know they were missing.”

“You know now.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

I answer, “I should know everything.”

He looks at me.

I stop. “Yeah. That sounded bad.”

“A little.”

I throw my pen down. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

Rowan leans back. “You won’t. If something goes wrong, you’ll fix it.”

I stare at him.

He shrugs. “You’ve been fixing things for a month.”

That settles somewhere low in my chest. I look back at the laptop. “You’re annoyingly good at making things sound simple.”

“Life usually is.”

I watch him for a second. “You would say that.”

“It’s true.”

Thursday goes better. All seven volunteers confirm. Then an eighth does. A junior from Sport Marketing who volunteered at a youth soccer event last semester and apparently has no problem being thrown wherever I need her.

I could kiss her. I don’t. I save that for Rowan when he catches me outside the rink after practice. It’s a quick two-second kiss. Nobody sees. At this point, I’m not entirely sure Stanley doesn’t have surveillance equipment installed.

Friday morning, I wake up with my first real event-day panic. It’s tomorrow, and the panic and anticipation are real. My phone has three emails.

One is Lisa confirming arrival.

One is from a parent asking whether siblings can watch from the stands.