Page 96 of Gap Control

I sat down beside him on the cold concrete. "I meant every word."

"You could've said team chemistry. Could've talked about work ethic or any of the bullshit they wanted to hear."

"Yeah. I could have."

"But you didn't."

"No. I didn't."

We sat there as the light faded, and I realized I wasn't scared anymore. Not of what I'd said, who might hear it, or what it meant.

I'd told the truth, and the sky hadn't fallen.

Later, that evening, I sat on the edge of my bed with the sketchbook open across my knees.

Pages fanned around me on the floor—some loose, some torn from older pads, and one half-crumpled from where it got caught under my boot in the locker room last month. Studies of movement. Rough pencil lines. Quick shadows. A lot of false starts.

The room was quiet except for the radiator ticking in the corner.

I'd pulled half a dozen pieces that might have worked. Monroe mid-laugh. A cluster of sticks tangled after a scramble in front of the net. Mercier's blocking the net in a blur of charcoal and blue.

None of them felt like the Forge. Not really. Not the way I knew it.

Then I flipped back to one I hadn't looked at in weeks.

TJ, mid-stride. No number, no face. Only his motion—sharp, alive, leaning forward into the ice. His stick was cutting low, his body low-slung and loose, like he had poured everything into forward momentum.

The sketch wasn't clean. There were smudges near the elbow and an erased line at the knee. I knew it was the one.

I stared at it for a long time.

No one else would know it was him.

That didn't matter.

I took a photo with my phone: no filters or cropping. I didn't rename the file—just sent it as-is to Coach, a string of numbers and letters and silence.

I didn't feel nervous, not exactly.

It was more like I'd relaxed and let something go a little.

The team group chat that night devolved into chaos. Monroe had posted a blurry video of himself getting mic'd up, captioned:My Roman Empire.Lambert suggested Monroe spruce up his look with eyeliner.

I scrolled past all of it, not really reading—until TJ's name popped up in a private thread.

TJ:Just watched your interview clip.

I straightened up.

TJ:You looked calm. Like you weren't trying.

TJ:That's a compliment, by the way.

I stared at the screen.

Mason:That obvious I was faking it?

The dots pulsed for a while.

---