Alderman.
I answer.
For one impossible second I hear arena noise through his phone. The hallway by the locker room. Skates on rubber. A door.
Then Alderman says, "He already knows."
The room tilts.
"How?"
"Reporter left him a voicemail."
Of course.
Of course the machine moved first.
"Where is he?"
Alderman exhales. "On his way to you."
The line goes dead.
I stand in my office with the phone in my hand and understand, too late, that following the right process has created the one outcome I promised myself I would never let happen.
Nolan is going to walk through my door with someone else's words in his mouth.
NOLAN
The voicemail is forty-three seconds long.
I listen to it in the hallway outside the locker room with my bag over one shoulder and my stick in my left hand and the room behind me still loud from practice because five minutes ago my life was a room that knew me and did not collapse under the knowing.
Unknown number. Tampa area code.
I almost delete it.
I don't.
"Mr. Cray, this is Evan Rourke with BreakPoint Sports. I'm reaching out for comment on a story involving an Atlanta Reapers assistant general manager, a personnel recusal filed earlier this season, and an alleged relationship between a member of management and a veteran player. We have reason to believe the player is you. We also have a photograph from the Tampa road trip and a source familiar with the recusal. We'd like to give you an opportunity to respond before publication."
There is more. An email address. A deadline. The phrase opportunity to respond said like a favor.
I listen to the voicemail twice.
The second time, the words do not become clearer. They become larger, piling up in a language that sounds official enough to be true before anyone has proven it: personnel recusal, alleged relationship, veteran player, you. The hallway has too much light and the walls are too white and my hip hurts from practice and from standing still too fast, and when someone laughs inside the locker room, Jonah probably, the sound comes through the door from a different world, one where Isaac asked a stupid question yesterday and the room laughed and for one day I believed that being known could be ordinary if I chose the room myself.
My phone buzzes.
Alderman.
I do not answer.
It buzzes again.
Caleb.
I look at his name until the screen goes dark.
