Page 39 of The Grumpy Defenseman
“You used the nickname she gave you,” he said. “Mr. Sunshine. You took the affectionate thing she had made for you and turned it into a knife. Then you handed it back to her with the edge out. You did that. Not me. Not the room. You.”
“I know.”
“Don’t ‘I know’ me, Evan.”
He never called me Evan.
“Then what?” I said.
“Then answer me. Why?”
“Brick…”
“Why?”
The word sat in the room.
I looked at the rubber mats. The black weave. The little flecks of blue worn through by years of deadlifts.
“I had a bad day,” I said.
“Try again.”
“I had a contract call I didn’t tell anyone about.”
“I know about the contract call. Mark called Sully. Sully called me the day it dropped. Try again.”
I looked up at him.
“You knew?”
“I know what’s threatening my room. Try again.”
I breathed out.
“Because I was scared,” I said.
It came out small.
He waited.
“Seattle’s offering ninety million dollars, and I don’t want it. San Antonio is the place I belong, and I don’t know how to admit that to myself yet. And Sam…” I stopped. Started again. “Sam looked at me yesterday like she was waiting for me to be a person, and I don’t know how to be one with somebody watching.”
“So you cut her.”
“Yeah.”
“In front of the room she’s working in.”
“Yeah.”
“With the nickname she gave you.”
“Yeah.”
He nodded once. Slowly. Not like he agreed. Like he was filing the answer where it belonged and getting ready to use it.
“Okay,” he said. “Now listen.”
