Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
HALEY
On Thursday morning, a chew toy sat on my desk like an accusation.
It wasn’t much, just a small knotted rope in blue and yellow.
The kind of thing you picked up at a pet store without thinking too hard about it.
I’d bought it yesterday on my way home, telling myself it was practical.
Beau needed toys. Tolrek probably didn’t have time to shop for dog supplies with training camp in full swing.
I’d been telling myself this for sixteen hours.
My office was cold enough that I’d pulled on my hoodie an hour ago.
The screens cast their usual blue glow across the desk, across my hands, and across the toy I kept not looking at.
Footage rolled on the center monitor. Tolrek, two seasons ago, before the injury.
I hadn’t been able to resist pulling it up and studying it.
Then, as a distraction, I rewatched a clip of Kardok the Wicked, a player for the Teal Terrors, who did this interesting thing with his tongue—his ridged tongue—every time he scored. While I wasn’t interested in him, I had to admit that there was something about that tongue…
He had fallen for Lila, a former pro figure skater, and she was no doubt enjoying his wicked tongue.
Did Tolrek have the same tongue? Just like humans, orcs were not all the same, though they all had green skin and tusks. But they came from various communities, with different cultures and backgrounds.
And maybe different tongues.
It didn’t take long for me to flip back to Tolrek’s plays.
I tagged a sequence I’d already tagged once before.
Later today, Tolrek would walk through my door and we’d discuss the tape session I’d prepared.
This was my job. I was good at my job. Why did I feel so nervous about it, then?
A shift in the light from the corridor made me look up. Tolrek stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“Are we still planning a session for today at four?” His voice came out even.
He could’ve confirmed this with the schedule posted in the locker room or asked any of the three assistant coaches whose offices were closer than mine.
“Yes, today. At four,” I said.
He nodded and left.
I dragged my gaze back to the center screen. This was the second time this week he’d appeared in my doorway with a question that hadn’t required me specifically.
I returned to the footage, and decided coffee would give me something to do with my hands. Then I might not stare at his footage or the toy on my desk.
The common area between the ice and the locker room was neutral territory, a place where staff and players overlapped without anyone feeling territorial about it. I had access and used it often enough that few looked twice when I walked in.
Crim sat at the big table, post-morning skate, still in practice gear with his hair damp. He held a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other, and was scrolling through screens.
He looked up when I entered. “Haley. Tell me you have good news about my positioning stats.”
“Define good.”
“Anything that doesn’t involve you being right and me being wrong again?” His laugh came out easy, and I was glad. No hard feelings, then.
I reached for a mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker. “I don’t have updated stats yet. You’re safe for now.”
“That’s almost comforting.” He set his phone down. “I owe you an apology, by the way, about that weak-side call in the meeting. You were right. I watched the full sequence and saw what you’d caught and I missed.”
The coffee pot hissed on the burner. I kept my attention on it instead of him. “You don’t owe me anything. You saw the footage and adjusted your read. That’s the whole point of the process.”
“Still. I was wrong. You were right. I’m saying it out loud so we’re clear.”
I looked at him.
“We’re clear,” I said.
“Good.” He looked down at his phone again. “How’s the prep for the first exhibition game looking? You finding anything useful?”
“Their power play kill has a tell. I’m building the sequence now.”
“Better you than me. I’d rather just hit people and let you do the thinking.”
“That’s a lie. You think more than half the roster.”
His low laugh rang out. “You’re right. I’d rather hit people and also think, but pretend I’m not thinking so they underestimate me.”
I smiled and turned to lean against the counter, a steaming coffee mug in my hand. “That sounds more accurate.”
“See? You understand me.” He grinned, all tusks and confidence, and for a second, I understood why half the audience swooned when he skated out onto the ice.
Movement at the open doorway snagged my attention.
Tolrek stood there, still in practice gear, his hair pulled back.
He’d been there long enough to see us. To hear us, maybe.
His expression gave me nothing, but his posture had changed in a way I felt more than saw.
It didn’t feel aggressive or possessive.
Just the type of attention that made the rest of the room go quiet.
Crim noticed. I watched him notice and make a choice.
He finished his shake in two long swallows and rose from the table, his chair screeching back on the tile floor. “I’m going to grab a shower before the afternoon session.” He nodded as he passed. “Looking solid out there this morning, Tolrek.”
“Thanks.”
The door swung shut behind Crim with a soft click that felt overly loud.
Tolrek hadn’t moved from his spot by the wall.
“How’s Beau?” I asked.
“Fine.”
“Good.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the toy. “I picked this up for him. It’s nothing. Just a chew toy. He seemed like the kind of dog who’d destroy it in under a week and be very pleased with himself.”
I held it out.
“More like three years. Beau’s teeth are tiny. No tusks.” Tolrek looked from the toy to me. Then back at the toy.
He crossed the space between us and took it from my hand, his fingers touching mine for half a second. His were warm and much larger than mine.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s not much.”
“Beau will think it’s wonderful.”
The next few moments cost me more than they should have. He stood with the toy in one hand, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what I’d meant. I stood where I was, knowing exactly what I’d meant and pretending I didn’t.
He turned and left without saying another word.
I stared at the space he’d vacated, slowly releasing my breath.
I’d started crossing the room when the door opened again, and Brashe stepped inside.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He strode to the coffee maker. “You were here early.”
“Tape prep.”
“Yes. The exhibition package.” He poured himself some coffee, added what looked like half a container of creamer, and turned to lean against the counter. “Can I ask you something?”
“That depends on the question.”
“Were you the one who drew the dog?”
My pulse kicked up. “What?”
“Tolrek’s dog. Someone drew him. I’m wondering if it was you.”
I could’ve lied. Should’ve, probably. “How do you know about that?”
“He asked me where to get a frame.” Brashe took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. “Yesterday. He said he needed something simple, nothing fancy, and he wasn’t sure where to get it. I asked what it was for, though, as always, he was evasive.”
I snorted.
His dark eyes sparkled and a hint of a smile rose on his face before his mouth smoothed. “Eventually, he said it was a drawing of Beau. From how his face darkened and the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes, I connected it to you. It wasn’t a difficult conclusion.”
“It was just a sketch.”
“Did you know what you did when you gave it to him?” he asked.
“I gave him a drawing of his dog.”
“You gave him a tal’haig.”
The word sat between us.
“I don’t know what that means,” I finally said.
Brashe set his mug down. “It’s—That’s a word for it. Tal’haig.” He paused like he was deciding how much to explain. “Rendering someone’s likeness. Or someone precious to them. It’s not casual. It means you looked long enough to actually know them. It’s a…mate thing.”
“Mate thing?”
“More or less.”
“I didn’t know,” I said again. And what did “mate” mean in all this?
“No.” He picked up his mug. “But he did.”
The coffee in my hand had gone cold. I set it on the counter before I could drop it. Tolrek had folded the paper with a lot of care. Now he’d gone looking for a frame for it.
“Is there something I should do about this?” I asked. “Will he feel like he has to respond?”
“Knowing Tolrek, yes.” Brashe said. “An orc who’s been seen will make himself known to the other person. The orc on the other end will probably notice before they fully understand.”
He said it like it was obvious, the way people describe things that are simply part of how the world works.
“You mean he’ll…draw something for me?” I wasn’t understanding this custom, so it was guaranteed I wouldn’t understand if Tolrek actually did something to reciprocate.
“Oh, not that.” He took a sip of his coffee, smacking his tusks. “It’s kind of like gravity. An orc can’t pretend the moment didn’t happen. He’ll be drawn back to it.”
I still didn’t understand. “Giving him the drawing wasn’t a bad thing, was it?”
“Oh, not at all. It’s a good thing. A kind thing.”
“Yet he’ll feel obligated to do something about it.”
“Exactly.”
“How long does it last?”
“Until the seen person accepts or withdraws. This comes from somewhere older than manners.”
My throat felt tight. “He won’t explain it.”
“No. He won’t know you know.”
“I see. Just now, I gave him a chew toy for his dog. Does that carry the same weight?”
“No. Tal’haig is specific to likeness, to being seen. Ordinary kindness is just kindness. Orcs give and receive it without ceremony.”
“I should get back to work,” I said. I needed to think about this some more.
“Sure.” He took another sip of coffee and walked toward the door. “Don’t think too much about it. It’s nothing.”
It didn’t sound like nothing. I’d broken or initiated an orc custom that might make Tolrek feel obligated to do something in exchange. Something…mate-like. “I’m the coach’s daughter.”
“I know who you are.”
He left without saying anything else.
I stood in the common area for a bit, staring at my coffee, before I went back to my office.
The footage was still open on my computer. I closed it and pulled up the prior end-of-the-season tape, after Tolrek had returned from his injury. His hesitation was there in every sequence. A gap in his confidence that he was still trying to play through.
I was going to sit with him at four o’clock and point out every mistake he’d made on tape, and he was going to know I’d seen him completely.
The folder I’d been pretending didn’t exist had a name now.
Tolrek.
I closed the footage and made myself work on something new.
A soft shuffling sound a bit later caught my attention, and I looked up to find Tolrek standing inside my doorway with one hand on the frame. Not coming inside.
“About the team meeting. Same time?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He knew that.
But now I knew why he was asking. Tal’haig. He was seeing me to reciprocate me seeing him. Drawing Beau, that is. Same thing.
Or was it?
I had to answer him in a normal voice while understanding that he was doing something he couldn’t help, a cultural gesture that came from a time older than both of us. He had absolutely no idea I could read it.
“Nine,” I said. “Full setup.”
He nodded and left again.
I sat there, blinking, while his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Then I made a conscious effort to return my hands to the keyboard. I opened a different player’s file and told myself I wouldn’t dwell on what I’d seen.
I thought about it anyway.
The corridor between my office and the wing where the executives had offices was narrow enough that two couldn’t pass without one of them turning sideways if one was an orc.
I held the finalized scouting package, printed and loaded on a thumb drive because my father liked having both. His office sat at the far end of the hall, past the assistant coaches’ offices and the manager’s palatial suite.
Tolrek came around the corner from the opposite direction, and I bumped into him, looking up, up, up.
The chew toy poked out of his pocket, the colorful rope bright against the dark fabric.
He saw me see it.
Neither of us stepped back.
The gap between us shrank, the corridor walls pressing in from both sides. The light overhead made everything feel too defined and clear.
His expression changed, and my pulse throbbed in my throat.
“Haley,” he said.
The gap between us was small enough that I could see the exact shade of green in his skin and the scar above his left eyebrow. The chip in his left tusk, probably from playing hockey. I inanely wondered if orcs saw the orthodontist just like humans did between seasons.
My father’s voice carried from the open office ahead. It sounded like he was on the phone, though his voice held that particular tone that meant he was finishing the conversation.
Tolrek stepped back, his expression empty.
I walked past him on legs I had to concentrate on. One foot. The other.
The corridor felt like it went on forever.
My father looked up when I entered, smiling, setting his phone down on the desk.
“Perfect timing,” he said, his gaze falling to my hands. “Is that the package?”
“Yes.” I set the folder and thumb drive on his desk. “Everything’s tagged and ready for tomorrow’s meeting.”
“You’re the best.” He dragged the folder closer and flipped open the cover, scanning the contents. “This looks great. Their power play kill tell is going to be huge for us.”
“I think so too.”
We talked through the package. My voice sounded normal. My hands didn’t shake.
When I left his office, the corridor was empty. I returned to my desk with only a few hours left until my session with Tolrek.
I’d barely sat down when I sensed him nearby.
I made myself breathe before I looked.
He stood in the opening, one hand on the frame. Not crossing the threshold.
Again.
“If they resurface the ice before the meeting tomorrow, the session room will be cold,” he said. “It runs cold through that side of the building for a few hours after.” His gaze dropped to my computer before returning to meet mine. “You might want to bring a jacket.”
We both knew I’d worked in this building long enough to know exactly how the resurfacing affected the temperature on that side.
From what Brashe had said, I knew what it might mean if I invited him in. He would cross the threshold if I asked, and nothing after that would be the same. I also understood that I was the coach’s daughter. Our session was only a short time away.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll bring one.”
He nodded and left like before.
I stared at the empty doorway for a very long time. Then I pulled up his old tape from before the injury and the trade, and watched him move across the ice with a certainty he didn’t know he’d lost.