Page 21 of Rookie Rules

"We'll run it," Rowan said.

"I know."

The echo was deliberate.

After video, players dispersed toward lunch, treatment, or the weight room. Rowan stood carefully enough that carefulness itself became suspicious.

The stiffness held.

He waited until the aisle cleared before straightening fully.

"How long?" Owen asked from the doorway.

Rowan looked at him. The head athletic trainer held a tablet against his chest and the patient expression of a man who had already seen the answer.

"How long what?"

"You've been favoring the right side since the last drill."

"I finished practice."

"Remarkable. I'll alert the medical journals."

Rowan gathered his notebook. "It's tight."

"That is a description. Almost useful."

"Mobility after lunch."

"Now."

"I have line work."

Owen did not move from the doorway. At thirty-seven, he had learned to block an exit without making it look like a contest.

"Five minutes," he said. "Then you can save hockey."

Rowan disliked the phrase because it sounded too much like the screen at the player entrance and too little like a joke.

He followed Owen to the trainer area.

Nolan Price sat on a treatment table with one pant leg pulled above his knee, winding tape with practiced tension around the joint. The veteran defenseman looked up.

"Captain's club," Nolan said.

"There is no club."

"That's the first rule."

Owen pointed Rowan toward an open mat. "Hip rotation."

Rowan lowered himself to one knee and worked through the movement. Tightness resisted, then yielded by degrees. Nothing sharp. Nothing unstable. Wear, not injury.

Across the room, Nolan flexed his taped knee, stood, and tested it twice.

"Good?" Rowan asked.

Nolan shrugged. "Attached."