Page 7

"And Hayes." He paused, and I stopped, and the cold from the rink settled against my damp skin. "You're quick, but you're guessing on the defensive reads. You reacted instead of anticipated on at least four neutral zone sequences I counted. That works in college because you're faster than everyone else but it won't work here. Make sure you take the time to watch the film tonight. I've already sent the plays you missed to your iPad. Study them, see where and what you're doing wrong."

"I will."

He walked away, his sneakers squeaking on the rubber floor mat. I stood in the tunnel for a second, letting his words settle. He was right. I'd been reactive, reading the play a half-second late and relying on my speed to make up the difference. My feet bailed me out every time, but my brain had been a step behind, and Briggs had seen all four instances. He'd been watching me that closely. I was on his radar. I didn't know if that was good or bad.

I made my way into the locker room and Jeremy dropped onto the bench next to me, unlacing his skates. "Solid out there. Briggs doesn't give nods to rookies."

"He told me my defensive reads were shit."

"Yeah, they were, but at least he nodded at you first and then dumped the news on you. FYI, that's the Briggs love language: compliment, then correct. If he corrects you without the nod, that's when you should worry. Learn the code."

I pulled my jersey off and reached for a towel, pressing it against my face. My undershirt was soaked through and stuck to my chest and back. The cold from the rink was fading, and I could feel the ache settling into my quads and hamstrings.

"So, how's the neighborhood?" Ashford asked from across the room, his gear already half off, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He'd asked casually, but there was a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth that told me he'd been waiting to ask. "Have you settled the dog shit crisis yet?"

I groaned. "Don't even get me started."

"Oh, this is gonna be good." Jeremy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Tell us everything."

I told them about the porch confrontation, the woman who answered the door with a dog the size of a small horse, and the way she'd dismantled my argument piece by piece while I stood there. Then I told them about the German Shepherd and the golden retriever, and the Rottweiler she'd listed off. Then I told them about the way she'd made her dog lie down with one snap of her fingers to prove a point.

"Wait," Ashford said, holding up a hand. His grin was gone now, replaced by genuine curiosity. "Did you actually see the dog do it?"

I hesitated. "No, but…."

"There is no but. You went to her house at ten at night, accused her dog of shitting in your yard, and you had zero proof?"

"The proof is that there is a massive dog right next door⁠—"

"Hayes, do you know what that's called in the legal world?" Ashford cut in. "Circumstantial evidence. Sure, you've got proximity and motive, but no witnesses and no physical evidence linking the suspect to the crime scene. Any first-year law student would get that thrown out."

"What do you know about it? You're not a lawyer," I said.

"No, but my sister is. And I'd put money on it, she'd tell you the same thing. I suggest you get a camera." He pointed at me with his water bottle. "One of those Ring doorbell things. Point it at the front yard. Get the footage you need to build a case. Then, once you have evidence, you go talk to her. Otherwise, you've got nothing and you look insane."

"He's right," Ryan said, toweling off his hair. He was sitting across the room, calm as always, his pads stacked neatly beside him. "No evidence, no case. I can't believe you went to a woman's door at ten PM smelling like dog shit and pointed at her dog. That's not an argument; you had a meltdown." He chuckled.

"I didn't have a meltdown, and I'd showered before I went over."

"You slipped in shit and fell on your ass in front of three witnesses," Jeremy said, grinning so wide it looked like it hurt. "And after you'd cleaned yourself up, you marched over to a stranger's house to yell at her about it. That's textbook meltdown behavior if I've ever heard it."

"I didn't yell."

"Did you knock calmly?" Jeremy asked.

I thought about the three hard hits on her door. "I knocked."

"You pounded," Jeremy said.

I sat there for a second, my towel in my hands, letting what they were saying sink in. They were right, and I knew they were right, and it annoyed the hell out of me because I wanted to be angry at my neighbor and her giant dog and the smug way she'd shut the door in my face. But I hadn't seen it happen. I'd assumed, and she'd called me on it, and I had nothing, so I couldn't fight her.

"Fine." I pulled on a clean shirt and laced up my sneakers. "I'll get a camera."

"Atta boy." Ashford raised his water bottle. "Surveillance before confrontation. Words to live by."

"That should be on a bumper sticker," Jeremy said.

"It should be a sticker on your bumper," Ryan said to me, smiling.