I don’t even mind Nolan’s long, thoughtful, lingering looks. He always defeats his opponent quickly. Then he finds something warm to drink for the rest of the team, sets it by our boards, and comes to stand somewhere behind my opponent. His eyes alternate between me and my game, dark and focused and greedy in a way I don’t fully understand. He doesn’t fist-pump when I win. He doesn’t even tell me that I did good. He just nods once, like every single one of my victories is expected and his faith in me is as solid as a boulder.
