Four days of rest protocol was apparently self-directed. Autonomous.
Just me, just Wesley Morrison, unsupervised, alone in my apartment with my takeout containers and wax cheese.
Which was fine.
I'd passed this morning's assessment. Brief, efficient, professional. Cross had looked at my eyes and asked his questions and made his notes and told me I was cleared, and I'd said thanks, and he'd said you're welcome, and that had been the entire interaction, and I was fine about it.
Yet despite getting back on the ice, I was in a terrible mood.
The locker room was loud, pre-game loud.
Chappell had his headphones in and his eyes closed and his mouth moving, which nobody asked about. Dylan was already in full gear, because Dylan was always already in full gear.
I was fine. I was getting dressed and I was fine and the game was in forty minutes and everything was fine and Cross had not texted me once in four days which was completely irrelevant to any of this.
"Morrison goes viral, gets pulled at practice, comes back for the home game,” Knox said. Not to me. To Searcy, across the room, not even looking in my direction. "Media eats this shit up. The PR team's probably losing their minds jerking each other off about it."
He said it the way Knox said everything, loud enough that there was no pretending he hadn't said it, blunt as a closed fist, not bothering to aim.
I heard it the way I heard everything today, which was wrong.
"You got something to say about me, Knox, say it to my face."
Knox turned around. Full attention.
"The hell's your problem?" Having Knox’s full attention was a whole thing, like standing in front of something large that was deciding whether to move. "I'm having a conversation."
"About me."
"Yeah, about you, Morrison, because you did something worth talking about, that's how it works!" He was already getting louder, the Knox dial turning the only direction it turned. "You went viral being a dumbass, and I made one comment. One. You want to cry about it, go cry about it somewhere I'm not."
"I'm not crying about anything—"
"Then what the HELL are you doing?" His voice bounced off the lockers. Someone across the room went very still. "You waltz in here with that face on like the whole world did something toyou personally and you're looking for someone to take it out on. Fine. You want to pick a fight? Pick a real one. But don't come at me with this half-assed bullshit like I'm not going to notice what you're doing."
"Knox—" someone said.
"No!" He pointed, arm fully extended, finger aimed at my face. "No, I'm serious! What is your problem? You got cleared! You're playing tonight! Act like it! Instead you're in here looking like someone pissed in your protein shake and going after me for having a conversation with Searcy, who, by the way"—he gestured broadly at Searcy—"also thinks it's a good narrative, so if you want to be mad at someone be mad at him too!"
Searcy raised both hands. "Leave me out of this."
"Too late, you're in it—"
"That's enough." Dylan was on his feet and between us with the efficiency of someone who had been running this particular interference since we were teenagers. "Both of you. Right now."
Knox pointed at me over Dylan's shoulder, voice dropping to something that was somehow louder for being more controlled. "Get your head right, Morrison. I don't know what's going on with you, and I don't care. Fucking fix it. We need you on the ice tonight, and right now you're giving me nothing. Sort your shit out before puck drop or I swear to god I will be a problem for you in ways that have nothing to do with this conversation."
He sat back down.
The locker room held its breath.
I didn't have anything. No justification, no explanation, no version of this that made sense. The live wire had found something and the something was Knox and Knox could take it. That was not a good enough reason and I'd done it anyway and now twenty-two people were staring at their skates on my behalf.
"I need air," I said, to nobody, and walked out.
Dylan watched me go.
I could feel it without looking. The way Dylan watched me was different from everyone else watching. His watching had weight and history and too many years of knowing exactly what my problem was before I did.
