Page 29 of No Contest
Sloane:Because you're my little brother and you've been spiraling since you learned how to think. Let yourself have something nice for once.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and moved a cone three inches left.
The side door banged open at five forty-eight.
"Okay, I know I'm late—" Hog stumbled in with his gear bag and a cardboard tray. "But I stopped to get hot chocolate. For the kids. Is that allowed? I asked the chatbot what to bring to youth hockey practice, and it said a positive attitude. That was unhelpful."
He wore a Storm hoodie under his jacket, sweatpants tucked into unlaced skates. His beard had crumbs in it—toast, maybe.
"You're seventeen minutes early. Practice starts at six."
He blinked. "What?"
"I said I'd be here at five thirty, setting up before practice."
"Right. Cool. I'm gonna go sit in the parking lot and wait for my grand entrance."
"Or you could lace your skates and help me set up."
He stared. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Unless you'd rather sit in your Prius and sulk."
"It's fuel-efficient." He was already dropping his bag and crouching to tie his skates. His hands moved fast—the same hands that made tiny whales. "And for the record, I wouldn't be sulking. I'd be panicking. There's a difference."
I crouched beside him. "They're not gonna hate you."
"You don't know that."
"I know they already love you. Half of them have Storm posters in their rooms."
His eyes opened wide. "That's worse. What if I'm a disappointment?"
"Hog."
He stopped.
"You're gonna be fine."
He exhaled. "Okay."
I picked up his other skate. His ankle was thick, solid—years of stopping pucks with his body. I pulled the lace snug, knotted it twice, then offered him my hand.
He took it. I hauled him up, and we stood too close, his breath fogging between us.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Don't thank me yet. You're running the shooting drill."
The color drained out of his face. "I'm what?"
The kids arrived at five fifty-five.
Maren Kowalski came first, dragging her gear bag like a sled. She took one look at Hog and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
"Is that Hog Hawkins?"
I didn't even have to look at Hog to know his ears were turning red under his toque.
