He's watching me with an expression I can't read from here and can't look away from and can't stop the flood of memory that comes with it — the blue light, his hands,I think we can make this work— and my whole body goes rigid.
I make myself look away and I take a drink.
Bennett is still talking about deep sea fish.
It starts small. The way these things always start small.
One of the Eldridge guys — a winger, big, I recognize him from film but don't know his name — drifts toward our side of the room. Says something to Cooper. Cooper laughs because Cooper laughs at everything. Another guy follows. Then another.
The conversation gets louder. I'm not paying full attention. I'm tracking Marcus in my peripheral vision like a bad habit, watching him watch me, and I'm talking to Bennett and telling myself I'm fine and then someone says my name.
"Callahan, right?" I look over. The winger. Up close he's bigger than he looked in film. Grinning like he already knows thepunchline. "Yeah," I respond.
"Heard you transferred." He looks at his teammate beside him. Looks back. "Heard why too."
The bar doesn't go quiet. It's too loud for that. But the small pocket of space around us shifts. "Did you," I say. Flat.
"Yeah." He takes a drink. "Couldn't hack it at Eldridge, right? Couldn't keep your hands to yourself." He grins wider. "Or was it your mouth that was the problem."
Bennett goes very still beside me.
Cooper, to his credit, stops laughing.
"Walk away," I say. Calm.
"Relax." He holds up his hands. Mock surrender. "Just making conversation. Trying to get to know the competition." He looks around at the guys near us. "Heard you like getting to know people. Especially on the team. Heard you're very—" he pauses, letting it land, "—friendly."
I hear it.
The laughter. Not everyone. Not most people. But enough. Two, three guys from Eldridge, the low cruel kind of laugh that's designed to carry just far enough.
I don't move.
What I'm aware of, in the way you become aware of everything when your body goes into a state of high alert: Bennett beside me, tense and not sure what to do. Cooper three feet away, uneasy. Watching. Marcus still across the room. Also watching. Not stopping it either. Just staring at me.
And Jamie. Jamie, who I clocked the second this started because I always notice Jamie. Who is at the bar ten feet away and has gone still. Who has heard every word. I watch his face. I watch him put it together — the winger, the laugh, the look on my face, and then his eyes moving past me to where Marcus is standing and staying there a beat too long and I watch himfigure out exactly who Marcus is.
I see it happen.
The recognition.
And then I watch Jamie Nash go blank.
Not angry. Not moving. Not opening his mouth.
Just — still.
Ten feet away with his water glass and his blank face and his silence. The winger is still talking. I've stopped hearing the words. The words don't matter anymore.
I'm watching Jamie not move.
I'm watching Jamie not say a single word.
And I know this. I know what it looks like when someone who is supposed to be on your side is quiet and what it means.
I've been here before.
Same silence.
