Page 109 of Puck the Coach's Son
I drag a hand down my face. The Boiler is six blocks. The kind of place with a sticky floor and a jukebox that only plays songs from before I was born. The team uses it because nobody under forty does, which means no phones, no chirping, no owner's daughter on her third whiskey sour trying to sleep witha defenseman. It's where Phoenix goes when he wants to be serious.
Which means he wants to be serious.
I stand up. I pull on a clean shirt. I don't shower. I want to still smell like Theo. I don't interrogate that. I grab my keys.
The Boiler is three-quarters empty at four-thirty on a weeknight. Two old guys at the bar. A woman I vaguely recognize playing pool by herself. Phoenix in the back booth under the dead neon sign that used to say OPEN and now just says OPE.
He's got two beers in front of him. One is mine. He didn't ask. He knows what I drink.
I slide in. “Make it quick.”
“Hi to you too.” Phoenix pushes the beer across. He's got that face on. The one where his jaw is doing a thing. Phoenix Reyes, when he's about to tell you something you don't want to hear, gets a muscle going right under his ear like he's chewing on the sentence before he lets it out. I've seen the face three times. Once before he told me my first season was going to be my last if I kept fighting. Once before he told me my mother's voicemail sounded bad and I should call her back. Once before he benched himself on a dirty hit and took the fine rather than cheat the kid.
I drink.
Set the glass down.
“Say it.”
“You're fucking the coach's son.”
There it is. No run-up. That's Phoenix.
I don't answer. I drink again. The beer is cold and bad, and I drink it anyway because the mouth needs a job.
“Creed.” Phoenix leans forward. The muscle under his ear is going. “I'm not asking.”
I lift the glass.
Set it back.
“Then don't ask.”
“I'm telling you I know.” He taps a knuckle on the table between us, twice. “And I'm telling you the guys know. Not all of them. But enough. And I'm telling you Paul is going to know in a week. Maybe less.”
I set the beer down.
The condensation has made a ring on the wood and I watch it bleed into the grain instead of looking at his face.
“Who?”
He doesn't blink.
“Who knows, or who told me?”
I finally look up.
“Both.”
Phoenix sits back. Folds his arms across his chest. “Park saw Theo leave your building this morning. Said he was walking like he'd been run over by something he liked. Park told me because Park is not a complete shithead. Not because Park wants you caught. He wanted me to get to you first.”
Park. Fuck. I knew Park lived two streets over. I forgot to care. I forgot to be careful. I haven't been careful about this since the day it started, which was maybe the point.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” Phoenix's eyebrows go up. He rubs his jaw. “That's it?”
I turn the glass in a slow quarter-circle.
