I do not cry because if I start here, I will not stop.
I wash. I rinse. I get out. I towel off. I dress in my street clothes with hands that are not shaking in any way the men around me can see. I pack my bag. I zip it. I sling it.
I walk out past Maddox's stall without looking.
He does not look up at me either.
We are both pretending.
We are both pretending very well.
Outside the rink, the morning has turned into whatever morning turns into at eight forty AM in late September. The sky is high and blue. My breath is a little cloud. The parking lot is full. Paul's car is in the coach's spot.
I text Paul from the sidewalk.
Going for a walk. Back for lunch.
Three dots. A pause. A response.
Be back by one. We are working on your stickhandling this afternoon.
Yes, sir,I respond before putting the phone back in my pocket.
I walk away from the rink in no particular direction. I walk three blocks. Five. I do not think about seven tonight. I think about seven tonight. I do not think about seven tonight. I think about seven tonight. The inside of my head is a metronome, and the metronome is set to one beat per second and the beat isseven tonight.
I sit on a bench at a bus stop.
I do not take the bus.
I watch the buses come and go for fifteen minutes.
My phone is in my hand. The message is still there.Waterfront. West pier. Seven tonight. M.TheMis a single letter, which is the version of his name a man uses when he does not want to write his whole name in case the phone gets picked up by somebody who is not supposed to be looking. TheMis love-letter protocol, but he is not writing a love letter. TheMis because he has thought about what would happen if Paul saw the screen.
He thought about what would happen if Paul saw the screen.
He thought about me.
He thought about protecting me.
That fact is a fact I do not know what to do with. I have not been protected in a long time, not in the way that costs the protector anything, and Maddox Creed threw a signedMinto a text instead of his name because he did not want to cost me anything on a screen.
I sit on the bench.
I put my head back against the plexiglass of the bus shelter.
I smile.
It is a small smile. It is a smile I have not smiled at anything since I moved to this city. It is a smile no one can see, becauseno one is looking at a kid at a bus stop in a nylon warm-up jacket with his bag at his feet.
I smile at the inside of my head.
Seven tonight.
8
MADDOX
The gym at four PM is the best gym.
