“My sister? What did she say?”
“She didn’t say much, but what she said corroborated what I learned from everyone else.”
I shook my head. “I should get to the rink,” I said.
“Go. Thanks, Mattias. Truly.”
I left him in the booth with his closed notebook and walked to the truck. The last time I sat in the truck with my hands shaking against the wheel. This time I got in, started it, and drove, feeling relaxed and quiet the entire way.
***
Varga and I arrived at the arena together. Everybody was only half-dressed when we got there, and Varga didn’t make it ten feet before he started. He had to. It’s part of his wiring.
“Okay, gentlemen and animals, I need everyone’s attention. That means you, too, Trier. I can see you pretending to look for a glove.”
“I am looking for it.”
“You don’t have a second glove. You’re a one-glove man, and we’ve all made peace with it.” Everyone turned their attention to Varga. Then he glanced at me, and I nodded.
He gave the announcement to me, the four-word guy.
“Lucas and I are together,” I said. “We have been for the last five years. We’re an open book now, and we wanted you to hear it from us before you heard it from anyone else.”
It was more words than I’d ever said in a row inside the locker room.
Trier’s jaw dropped and stayed there.
Cross looked up from the stick across his knees. He took it in.
“Good,” he said. He nodded once and went back to the tape.
Trier finally found words. “Five—wait. Five years? I told the married-couple joke to a reporter. I told Kovac you fight about the thermostat—“
“For the record, we don’t,” I said.
“He’s right. We don’t, and I’m the reason.” Varga spread his hands like he was accepting an award. “I run that house at a humane, accurate temperature, and he has never once thanked me.” Laughter spread through the room.
Two stalls down, Rafe had said nothing. He had one glove off and his eyes on us. He wasn’t laughing, but he didn’t look uncomfortable either. When he caught me looking at him, he gave me a small nod, prairie-flat, and went back to his laces.
Markel walked into the room at the end. He’d likely read the announcement on the group chat while sitting in his office. He looked at the two of us.
“Is there anything I need to do?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then it’s the same room.” He looked at the clock above the door. “On the ice in twenty.”
I ran into Mark in the tunnel. When I told him to un-pack the runway, he didn’t act surprised.
“The statement is ready,” he said. “It’s in your words. I had Heath read it. He fixed two minor things and made it better. I’m not happy that he’s better at this than me.” He made a small mark on his clipboard. “It goes out after the game as soon as the horn blows.”
“After the game.” I ran it through my head.
“Yes. It’s a good statement, Rook.”
Heath caught me just before we stepped onto the ice. He had a grin on his face.
“I’ve got your back,” he said. “I’ll handle the beat guys.”
