Page 66 of Home Ice

“Yes.”

“Good. Marlene sent me something this morning. I didn’t read all of it, but I read enough.”

“Mom—“

“I’m not asking you to explain anything,” she said. “That’s why I’m calling, so you’ll know I won’t ask you. Rafe, hold on.” A clatter. The phone was changing hands.

“Hey,” Dad said.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Cold down there?”

“About the same as there, probably.”

“Huh. I watched the Nashville game again. Their D pair tries to look better than they are. You’ll get behind them once a period if your guys are patient.”

“That’s what the video said this morning.”

“There you go.” The line was quiet for a moment. “These people writing things. They don’t know anything about you. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“They never met you. It’s a lot of people talking who have never met you.” A stool creaked. “Your mother wants the phone back.”

“I do not want the phone back; I’m right here. Rafe, we’re coming to the March game in Winnipeg.”

“I’d like that.”

“That Max seems like a nice boy, whatever you arranged. You can hear it in the interviews, and how you get along in the video of both of you. I told Dad nobody made that up.”

“No,” I said. “We do get along.”

“Okay,” she said. “We love you, Rafe.”

“Love you too.”

She was gone.

I got up and walked around the room, straightening things with shelf and table edges. On the console, I’d already sorted the mail into two piles. I looked through it again to make sure: personal in one pile and ads in the other.

My phone buzzed. It was the team chat again. Varga had posted a link and added: nobody click this. I already did so you don’t have to. it’s garbage. we say nothing to the reporters. we say everything we have to say on the ice. Heath added: what he said.

I still had nothing from Max.

I checked his website. There was something new. It was a kitchen he’d shot in Wilmette, and the caption was about grout lines. The comments were shut off. It was smooth and dignified, but I couldn’t find him in it anywhere.

I put the phone in my pocket and grabbed my keys. Seconds later, I was in the truck. I didn’t know where I was going, but I put it in gear anyway.

At the first light, I knew where I wanted to go. The turns were deliberate. If Mark had called at that moment, I probably would have told him I was just driving, but that wasn’t true.

The old brick buildings rose on either side of the street. A guy entered one of them carrying a six-pack.

I parked across the street from Niko’s shop, half a building down. The truck sat in the dark patch between two streetlights. I turned the engine off.

The light was on in the shop. The blinds were shut, but every seam glowed. Above it, the apartment windows were dark.

Niko would know by now. Everybody knew by now. He’d have seen it, and he didn’t text me either.