Page 33 of The Grumpy Defenseman

“He’s skating better, you know.”

“Everyone’s skating better. It’s preseason conditioning.”

“Nope. It’s you.”

“Brick.”

“Just saying. The man skates like he’s got somewhere to be when you’re around. Make of that what you will.”

Before Brick could answer, Silas appeared beside the boards, hands in his pockets and his attention on me.

“Walk with me,” he said.

We walked down the corridor that connected the rink to the administrative wing. Silas’s pace was unhurried. His voice, when he finally used it, carried the cadence of someone who had thought about every word before saying it.

“The campaign metrics are excellent,” he said. “Engagement is up forty percent. The community event content performed better than anything we’ve produced in three years. Walsh is happy. Sponsorship is trending the right direction. You’ve done outstanding work.”

“But I’m noticing something,” he continued, “between you and McKinney. And I need to know it stays professional during the contract window.”

The warning was clean: a boundary from the man paid to keep the player and the campaign intact.

“I hear you,” I said.

“I’m not asking you to change anything about the work,” he said. “The work is the best we’ve had. I’m asking you to be aware of the timing. Evan’s contract talks are heating up. Sponsors are watching. Sandra is fielding twice the media traffic, and Walsh doesn’t like surprises. If the optics get complicated…”

“They won’t.”

He studied me for a moment, the same cataloging look he had given me on the first day. Then he nodded.

“Good.” A beat. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re good for this team. I’d like to keep it that way.”

He walked away, leaving me inside a box with precise dimensions.

So I adjusted. Carefully.

Evan noticed within two days.

I knew because his skating tightened again.

On the second day, he skated past my position along the boards and slowed. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for me to feel the temperature of his attention.

“You’re different,” he said, voice low enough that the words did not travel.

“I’m working.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I packed my gear when practice ended, nodded at Brick, waved at a rookie whose name I had finally learned, and walked out without looking back.

My phone buzzed halfway to the car.

Bella: You’re quiet today. What broke?

Me: Nothing broke. I’m being professional.

Bella: That’s the saddest sentence you’ve ever written.

Chapter fifteen