I should shut it down.
Instead, I exhale once. “I read the article.”
The room shifts.
Not away from me.
Toward.
“She lied?” Colt asks.
I look down at the phone.
“No.”
That quiets them.
Somebody down the row mutters, “Well, shit,” and nobody argues with it.
Evan sits back in his stall, elbows on his knees. “Doesn’t mean I want her in here.”
“She’s not in here,” Roman says.
“She was enough.”
Colt frowns. “She wrote what happened.”
“She wrote what happened because we let her close enough to watch it happen,” Evan says. “That’s not the same thing.”
The split opens without anybody moving.
I feel it. The guys who hate exposure. The guys who respect the piece. The younger players watching the older ones to learn which opinion is safe.
I can end it with a captain’s sentence.
I have done that for years.
Instead, I let the silence stretch long enough for honesty to show up.
“Evan’s allowed to hate it,” I say.
Evan’s eyes narrow, suspicious of being granted anything.
“Colt’s allowed to think she’s fair. Both can be true.”
Finn looks between them. “Can I think the cereal thing deserves more coverage?”
“No,” three players say at once.
The pressure cracks just enough.
I stand. “We skate in twelve. Whatever you think about the article, keep it out of the first drill.”
Evan’s mouth curves. “Second drill is available?”
“Second drill is where I embarrass you.”
“Dream big.”