Tate heard the deadbolt slide.

The sound was small. It filled the whole room.

Knox came back and sat on the bench across from Tate’s locker. He put his elbows on his knees. The towel was in his lap now and it was doing a bad job.

“Worst one all year,” Knox said.

“Yeah.”

“You played like shit.”

“So did you.”

Knox nodded once, like that was fair. His eyes dropped again. He didn’t lift them. “Kate text you?”

“Twice.”

“You gonna answer?”

“Later.”

Silence stretched. A pipe ticked. Somewhere in the building a janitor’s cart rolled and faded.

Knox said, “Come here.”

Tate should have put his clothes on....