Page 143 of Play Dirty

“That’s not me,” he pointed.

“No,” Ares said, eyes narrowing. “It’s us before you.”

I let it play. They continued to watch. The goal went in almost immediately.

Carter Sutherland was at a bad angle. He had even worse positioning. Sebastian leaned forward.

“Jesus.”

I rewound it.

“Look at this,” I said, pointing. “He’s not even on the right side of the crease. He’s looking left — and the puck’s already right.”

We watched it again. And again after that. The goalie’s head moved, but his body didn’t.

“Bad one,” Sebastian whistled.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I pulled up the next clip. Another game. Another goal. This one slower. Late reaction.

“That’s not just late,” Sebastian muttered, “that’s criminally late.”

Ares squinted even harder. He leaned in.

“That’s not a mistake.”

“No,” I said quietly. “It’s not.”

I showed them the next clip. The one after that. Five clips later, the goals got even more egregious.

Through it all, Grayson didn’t say anything. Not even once. He just sat in a nearby recliner, biting his lip.

I noticed that, too.

“He’s off,” Sebastian said. “Way off.”

“Not off,” Ares muttered.

I didn’t look away from the screen.

“Then what?”

Grayson finally answered. His voice was flat.

“Delayed.”

Sebastian frowned.

“What’s the difference?”

Grayson leaned back slightly, finally tearing his eyes from the screen.

“Late is slow,” he said.

A beat.

“Delayed… is waiting.”

Silence. I felt it settle over all of us.