Page 71 of Breakaway
"I know. I saw it. I was going to call for the puck but you had already released it."
"Next time call for it. You were open too."
He nods. He does not push. Hájek does not push. Hájek observes and files and says one sentence and lets the sentence sit.
"Are you staying for video review?" he says. "Coach said optional."
"No. Not today."
"Okay. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
The room empties. Thompson stops at the door and looks back.
"Tomorrow, Berger. Same time."
"Same time."
He goes. Mueller leaves. Jensen and Davis walk out together.
Marchetti left a sandwich for me in my stall, and I put it in my bag to humor him. He lingers at his stall for a few extra seconds, his eyes cutting my direction once, and then he grabs his bag and goes.
I pick up my phone without looking at the screen. I walk past the entrance on my way to the lot and the trash can is where it was this morning. The book is under whatever has been thrown away since.
I get in my car. I sit with my hands on the wheel. Thompson sees it. Marchetti sees it. They see it and they don't know what it is and I can't tell them. I start the engine. I drive home.
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Chapter 26: Wes
The hotel room in D.C. is the same as every other hotel room on every other road trip in fifteen years of road trips. Bag by the door. Suit on the hanger behind the bathroom door. The game is tonight. Morning skate is in ninety minutes.
I call him. Three rings, voicemail. His voice on the recording is from September, the broadcaster at full volume, the cadence of a man who has opinions about the outgoing message's pacing. I listen to all of it. I hang up.
I called him yesterday before getting on the plane. Voicemail. I called him the night before from the penthouse, standing on the balcony with the ocean flat and black. Voicemail. Three calls and multiple texts in three days and the man who used to send me nine restaurant rankings in an afternoon has not picked up the phone.
I set it face-down on the nightstand. His feet on the sand. Gone.
Morning skate is at the arena. I ride the bus with the team because I have ridden the bus with the team for eight years on the Tempest and for six years before that on two other rosters.Paulson is across the aisle. He has been talking about the arena's pregame spread.
"Last time we were here the eggs were cold," Paulson says.
"The eggs are always cold in D.C."
"Not last March. Last March the eggs were almost warm."
"Almost warm is not warm, Paulson."
"Almost warm is an improvement. I'm tracking a trend."
"You're tracking a trend with a sample size of two."
"Two is the beginning of a pattern. You taught me that."
"I taught you that about hockey, not eggs."
"Eggs are hockey, Mercy. Everything is hockey."
