Page 94 of Home Ice

“When the story broke,” I said, “you asked me if I knew where it came from. I said no.” My hands stayed easy on my knees. “A week before it came out, I told one person it wasn’t real. Somebody outside the deal. She asked me about Max, and the truth just came out of me before I knew it was coming. I don’t know if that’s where the story started, but I knew it when you asked me, and I told you no anyway.”

My words didn’t come out smoothly, but they were true.

Mark picked up a pen from the desk and set it back down in the same place.

“Who?” he asked.

“Somebody’s grandmother.”

He sat with that for a second. Then he shook his head slowly. “Two months,” he said. “You carried it two months, and the one crack in the entire operation was you telling somebody the truth.” He closed the file drawer with his foot. “I can live with that. The story’s over, and tracing it backward buys nobody anything.” He looked at me. “Thanks for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”

He rubbed his chin. “There is an item two, and it’s the fun one. I promised fun. You remember the kid with the glitter sign? The one with the second K backward?”

“He’s got a spot at the glass,” I said.

“His mom wrote to the foundation office. It was a very polite letter. There was a stretch where she couldn’t get him to come to our games.” Mark’s voice was calm. “He’s coming tonight. She asked whether there was any way you could be told that Tyler, the kid, never believed any of it.” He looked at me. “The ask is a signed puck.”

“Yes,” I said.

He smiled and exhaled. “I’ll have one at the bench during warmups. His name’s Tyler, seven years old, and the mom says he wants you to sign it Rafe. No last name.”

“Rafe it is.”

Mark stood, and I stood. He walked me the four steps to the door with a hand on my shoulder. “Go home. Take your nap. It’s a big game tonight.”

***

I napped with the blackout curtains pulled and both alarms set. It was a sound sleep.

I had one text waiting when I woke up.

Niko: Chet says Minnesota plays “heavy.” He’s said it four times and hasn’t defined it once. Define it for me.

Rafe: it means when they hit you it’s hard. also they send two guys after the puck everywhere, all night. we have a plan for that

Niko: Will the plan work?

Rafe: it worked on Rook this morning.

Niko: Good luck tonight.

The arena at six forty was already louder than usual. When we came out for warmups, it was loud like before the arrangement. I listened.

I took my laps and stretched at the red line. At the glass in our corner, wearing a jersey three sizes too big, holding a brand-new sign, was Tyler.

The sign said RAFE in glitter, no K’s to write backwards. His mother stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders. When I broke off my lap and skated toward the glass, he froze.

I pulled the puck out of my glove and held it up so he could see the writing on it. His mouth opened. I reached over the glass and dropped it down into both of his hands. I tapped the glass twice with my glove, and he looked up at his mom with the puck held against his chest as if it were warm.

Over two dozen strangers around him cheered.

I skated back into the flow of the lap. Varga fell in beside me for half a turn.

“You’re one name now, like me,” he said.

“You mean Rafe?”