Page 84 of Home Ice

He picked up before the second ring finished.

“Hey.”

“I’ll do the video,” I said.

The silence lasted for almost thirty seconds. I heard brief typing in the background, so I knew he hadn’t hung up.

“When?” he asked.

“You tell me. You’re the professional.”

“Tomorrow night. Are you free?”

“I’m working on a chair, but it’ll keep.”

“The Ironhawks are home against Minnesota. The game ends around nine thirty, and I’ll come by after at ten or so. We’ll shoot it clean and simple. You’ll stand there hating it, but we won’t give you time to overthink it. We’ll put it up the same night.”

“Max, before you hang up and start ordering equipment, tell me the numbers one more time.”

“What numbers?”

“Half a million new followers. The brands that came back. The podcast and the morning show that’s holding a slot.” I kept my voice even. “The minute this posts, you’re no longer the victim. I want to hear you say you understand that.”

“I understand,” Max said. “I did the math before I ever drove to your shop. Honestly, the mattress company would never survive due diligence anyway. I’ve slept on that mattress, and I’d be telling people’s backs a lie.” That was Max in full bloom. “Niko, I’ve been waiting by this phone for days hoping you’d change your mind. The money was never what I wanted out of this.”

I looked at the chair. Every bad screw aimed at keeping it.

“One question,” I said. “When it goes up. What does it ask of him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s spent weeks now with the world demanding answers out of him. He does his best to manufacture one, but that doesn’t satisfy the beast.” I stopped. “I refuse to add my confession to the pile of things he has to answer for. If this thing lands on him like one more media question, I’d rather keep it to myself.”

Max was quiet for a moment, and when he answered, he sounded like the man that made two million people trust him with their houses.

“Our post asks nothing of him,” he said. “It sits there, and he finds it when he finds it. He can watch it two dozen times before deciding what he thinks. He can avoid mentioning it if he wants to.” A pause. “That’s why it’s the right tool. It’s his choice whether he adopts it.”

“Tomorrow, then,” I said.

“Tomorrow. And Niko, wear the apron. Don’t dress up. I mean it. You look like you’re going to a funeral when you try. I love you. Don’t try to sharpen anything.”

***

Max arrived with three cases and a duffel. He walked backward through the shop’s front door, dragging it all with him.

“Eight years,” he said. “For eight years I’ve been trying to get a camera into this room.”

“Set up before I have time to think about it.”

He set up. It took him eleven minutes. The ring light went up on its stand. He placed a second small light behind the bench, pointing at the wall. When I asked what it did, he said “separation” and kept moving. He taped a cable flat to the floor so nobody would trip over it and die.

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you sit?”

“There’s the stool.”

“Don’t have me pick the stool. Where do you actually sit?”

I took three steps. “Here’s where I was standing to say no to you.”