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My face must have changed because Max's amusement vanished.

I pointed my fork at him before he could start. “If you summon the medic every time I move wrong, I will stab you with this.”

Phoenix's sigh came from across from us. “I miss when you two were silently pining. It was considerably quieter.”

For perhaps half a second, the entire table stopped.

Then Keegan started laughing.

I looked at Phoenix before slowly turning toward Max, who appeared to be considering whether murdering a teammate during the playoffs would affect his captaincy.

“Silently?” I repeated.

Taz snorted into his drink. “That isn't the word any of us would use.”

It took me another second to realize what they'd actually said. “Wait. You were all talking about us?”

Dante immediately became fascinated by his glass, while Baelor studied the ceiling with enough concentration to suggest he'd discovered something architecturally significant.

Keegan, unfortunately, possessed no instinct for self-preservation. “There may have been a committee.”

“A committee?”

“Informal,” he assured me. “Very informal.”

Max started swearing in French.

I understood almost none of it, but the tone was spectacular, and for the first time since Doryu had shown me the video, I laughed without anything hurting inside.

My ribs were another matter.

Lunch lasted nearly two hours, and nobody mentioned my father until we were leaving.

Max was several steps ahead of me talking to Cinder when Phoenix touched my arm, stopping me before I reached the elevator. His expression had lost the teasing edge from lunch, but he didn't look uncomfortable or curious, which immediately made whatever he was about to say easier.

“I just wanted to make sure you know nobody gives a shit about what your father shouted last night.”

I stared at him.

Phoenix shrugged slightly. “Whatever happened, whatever he thinks he knows or whatever you want to tell anyone someday, that's your business. I just didn't want you walking around thinking everybody was whispering about you.” He shrugged. “I went through a similar thing with mine.”

Because I knew he had, something inside my chest loosened so unexpectedly that it took me a second to answer. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, apparently deciding neither of us needed to turn it into a heartfelt conversation in a hotel corridor, and headed after the others.

Max was waiting beside the elevator.

He glanced from Phoenix to me but didn't ask what we'd talked about.

That might have been one of the most intimate things he'd done all day.

We had a few hours before the team meeting and eventually ended up with coffee on one of the quieter terraces overlooking the hotel pool.

For a while, neither of us talked about anything important, which turned out to be exactly what I needed.

Max told me about getting onto the wrong team bus during his rookie season and traveling several blocks before somebody finally asked why a Montreal player was apparently joining Boston for dinner. I retaliated with the story of Ember falling asleep during video review earlier in the season while somehow keeping his eyes open, which Max refused to believe until I told him Baelor had photographic evidence.

It felt normal in a way almost nothing had recently.