Almost touching.
Not enough.
Never enough.
“I miss you,” she says.
The sentence should be small enough to survive the sidewalk.
It is not.
It hits the place in me that has been pretending distance is a strategy instead of punishment. Peyton stands six feet away with her notebook under her arm and the city behind her, and I want, absurdly, to tell her about Finn. About the dizziness. About the old Calgary hit. About everything a captain learns to swallow and then mistakes for wisdom.
I want to tell her because she would understand.
I do not tell her because she would understand.
I close my hand into a fist at my side. “Do not say that here.” It comes out quiet. Not a tactic. Not a request.
“Where should I say it?”
I have no answer that does not break something.
Her mouth trembles once, then steadies. “That’s what I thought.”
She turns and walks toward the lot with her notebook under her arm and her shoulders straight enough to make pride look like damage.
I stay under the overhang until the cold gets through my jacket.
When I go back inside, the locker room is exactly where I left it.
Nothing has changed.
Everything waits.
***
The next morning is maintenance day.
No full contact. Optional skate. I show up at nine because I am incapable of sleeping past optional.
The training room is quiet. Maren has a whiteboard going near the far wall, something about recovery protocol I do not look at because her whiteboard has a way of becoming a conversation.
Finn is already on the treatment table. Sitting still, chin down, letting Maren move a small light tool through careful arcs in front of his eyes.
She sees me. Small shake of her head. Later.
I get my hip worked on in the far bay. Roman comes in and out looking for tape. Zach asks about the power-play adjustment from film. I answer on autopilot and watch Finn in the mirror.
When Maren lets Finn up, he crosses the room without making eye contact with anyone. Roman says something to him. Finn says one word back. Colt appears from the hallway with two coffees, looks at Finn’s back, and makes the face of a man performing active not-noticing.
“Practice schedule change?” Colt says to no one in particular.
“No,” I say.
“Cool. Okay.” Colt drifts back toward the door.
I push off the table and catch Finn in the equipment corridor.