Page 83 of Wingmen

“Don’t put it on speaker,” he said.

Jordan must have covered the phone, because Dustin heard him say something to someone – probably Sarah – then come back. “Sorry. Say that again?”

“Am I on speaker?”

“No.”

“I can’t come there. But I was hoping you could come over here.”

“Okay…” Another word to Sarah. “Sure. Yeah, I could meet up tomorrow.”

With his eyes still closed, Dustin said, “No, I meant…tonight. Like now.”

“Tonight?” Jordan was probably checking the time on his phone. It was far too late, obviously. “Wejustgot May down.”

“Right.”

“Uh…but I guess…if it’s an emergency? Is everything okay?”

Dustin opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling and sat like that for so long that by the time he spoke, Jordan probably already knew it wasn’t.

“No,” he said. “Not at all.”

A long pause. Then: “Where are you?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Elliot

Good morning

Are you there?

How are you today?

Hello?

“Rodriguez! Get out here.”

Elliot looked up and had to remind himself where he was: on the bench at the practice rink. It was nine AM; the air was cold and faintly sweet with the smell of Zamboni exhaust, and the ice was fresh. He wasn’t supposed to be on his phone, but it had been twelve hours since he’d texted DustinI miss you, and Dustin hadn’t sent anything back.

“Rodriguez!Get off the goddamn phone and get on the goddamn ice!”

Five other off-season players were already out there, coasting around the outside, doing crossovers at center. Ten more were split between the benches. He didn’t know any of them – guys from surrounding areas, came in to do a three-on-three. Elliotdidn’t want to do it. He was confused and worried and angry that Dustin hadn’t texted him back and he wasn’t in the mood to play hockey today.

But sometimes that was how things went. And what would the Great Bendito do if he was confused and worried and angry?

He would skate.

He put the phone in his bag behind the bench and vaulted over the dashers.

Three on threewas fucking brutal.

The ice was like a desert. There was nowhere to hide. Twice the territory to cover, no time to stop skating even for a second, and no one to back you up if you got stripped or pickpocketed. Everything you did mattered and everything you fucked up was magnified a hundred times.

And Elliot was seriously fucking things up.

“JesusChrist, Rodriguez! What are you doing?! Climb out of your asshole and get your head in the fucking game!”