Page 17 of Line Change

“And?” He waits for an answer I don’t have.

“I have practice.”

Micah gives me a look but lets it go.

Tessa slides the gift card into her bag. “Come on. Our hockey genius needs his sleep.”

I say goodnight to the bartender and wave at the couple still arguing about soup. Outside, the air is cold enough to bite through my jacket. Tessa and Micah head toward the bus stop, and I call a car in the opposite direction.

I go home alone.

6

BEN

“Hi,” Grayson says. “This is weird. Did you mean to call me?”

He’s right. My brother and I don’t call each other. Three weeks after Miami trades me to Seattle, I apparently decided to start.

I’m in the hallway outside the visitors’ locker room in Arizona, the only place in the arena where nobody is yelling, sharpening skates, or playing music through a speaker that should’ve been confiscated by airport security. “Yes.”

“Okay.” There’s a scrape, then a thud. “Hang on. I was trying to get a glass off the top shelf.”

“Put the phone down.” I can picture him halfway onto the counter with one hand occupied, which means telling him not to climb will only make him do it faster.

“I have it. And I didn’t drop the glass.” Another scrape comes through the phone, followed by the sound of a cabinet shutting. Korolev’s house has stools. I’ve seen them. Grayson would rather climb onto a counter one-handed than move one six feet. “I’m alive. How’s Seattle?”

“I’m in Arizona.” I lean against the concrete wall. The vibration of the locker-room music reaches me through it, all bass and no song.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He knows where I am. Calling him was probably a mistake. “It’s fine.”

“Right. So terrible. I saw something calling you Saint Pope.”

I close my eyes. “Since when do you pay attention to hockey memes?”

“I know, right? It’s the worst! Vasya sent it to me.” Of course he did. Korolev retired and somehow started paying attention to more hockey coverage than he did when he played. “It wasn’t a meme, exactly. It was more like a report. Or an article. I didn’t read it. The picture had a halo drawn over your head.”

“Excellent reporting.” A story about me came out this morning, but I only read far enough to see veteran influence before closing it. I don’t need to ask which picture they used.

“You looked really unhappy about the halo.”

“I was probably unhappy about something else.” The door at the end of the hall opens. One of Arizona’s equipment staff comes through pushing a laundry cart, and I step out of his way.

“You’ve got a list?”

I wait until the cart rattles past. “We aren’t winning enough.”

“You won the other night.”

“We need to do it more than once.” One win didn’t stop us from going right back to missing passes and giving away the middle at the next practice.

Grayson makes a doubtful noise. “I don’t think that’s how one works.”

I’ve already said more than I meant to. “How’s Korolev?”

“Vasya’s good.” His voice changes when he says the name. It always does, even if he’s only answering a question about whether Korolev remembered to buy milk. “We went to the cat shelter yesterday. We might get a cat.”