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Mack sees.

He doesn’t ask if I’m good.

This is why he gets to stay.

The hand is better some days and worse others. Guerra has me in follow-up, which is doctor language for everybody knows more than they did in the spring and nobody knows enough yet.

I pick up the buckle.

“Happy?”

“Deeply.”

The bedroom door opens without a knock.

Tova comes in carrying a basket of white flowers and stops.

Her eyes go straight to my hand, then to the buckle.

“What is that?”

“Evidence of poor judgment.”

Mack grins. “Ask him what he did before hockey.”

Tova looks at me. I fasten the buckle.

“Ask Mack.”

“Colt.”

Mack leans against the dresser. “Tell the child why half the league calls you Tex.”

“Because he’s from Texas,” Tova says. “That’s not a nickname. That’s an address.”

“Correct.”

“So it’s a stupid nickname.”

“Also correct.”

Mack is enjoying himself too much. I point at him. “You’re out of the wedding.”

“I’m best man.”

“Temporary position.”

Tova waits me out, and I give up.

“I rode broncos.”

She stares at me. “Broncos?”

“Broncos.”

“Like rodeo?”

“Yeah.”