His stare sharpened. "And?"
"And people are already talking." The words came faster now. "They're already looking for reasons. Looking for somebody to blame."
Realization flickered across his face. "Kier..."
I hated how gentle he sounded. I hated how badly I wanted him to tell me I was being ridiculous.
"Maybe they're right."
The silence that followed felt heavier than anything that had come before.
"What happened while I was gone?" He sat forward. “Kier, where is this coming from? Did something happen?"
"No."
"Kieran." The way he said my name almost broke me.
I hated how badly I wanted him to tell me I was overreacting. Hated how badly I wanted this awful feeling to disappear. Instead, I reached for my phone. A few taps later, I handed it to him.
He frowned as he scanned the screen. Then his expression flattened. "Oh, for God's sake." He kept reading for another few seconds before dropping the phone onto the cushion between us. "You're upset because of this?"
"I'm not upset." The lie sounded weak even to me.
His look suggested he wasn't buying that for a second. "Kier, this is garbage."
"Maybe."
"It is garbage." His voice sharpened slightly. "People say stupid things after losses. They need somebody to blame. Tomorrow, they'll blame coaching. The day after that, they'll blame the power play. Next week it'll be something else."
I stared at the floor. "They have a point."
"No, they don't."
"Thane—"
"No." The force behind the word startled me enough that I finally looked at him. "They don't." He sat back against the couch and dragged a hand through his hair.
"They're not saying anything that isn't true."
Thane stared at me. "Nothing in that article is true."
"They lost two games."
"Welost two games." The correction came immediately. Firm. Certain. "They're looking for somebody to blame," he continued. "That's all this is."
I laughed. The sound came out wrong. Too sharp. Too close to breaking. "That's easy for you to say."
His forehead creased. "Kier, what does that mean?"
I stood up. Suddenly, sitting still felt impossible. "You have hockey."
"What?"
"You have hockey. Your team. Your family. Your career. Your sponsors. Your whole life is already full."
The confusion in his expression deepened. I knew I wasn't making sense. I knew I was skipping steps. The problem was that I couldn't seem to stop. "You're acting like this is about two hockey games."
"Because it is."
