Page 106 of Cross Ice

Nico

In Denver. How’s your day?

Evan

Fine. Working.

Fine. That word again. I’d stopped pushing on it, which I’d told myself was respecting his pace. André’s voice came back—you’re allowed.

Maybe I’d stopped pushing because it was easier. Because fine let me file it and move on.

Nico

Tell me something honest.

A long pause. Long enough that I wondered if I’d miscalculated.

Evan

I checked the tabs 31 times today, and it’s only 2pm. Down from yesterday, though, so.

Evan

That’s the honest thing.

My chest ached. Thirty-one times.

Nico

Thank you for telling me.

Evan

You asked.

Nico

I’m going to keep asking.

He didn’t respond right away. When he did, it was just:

Evan

Okay.

From Evan, that was a lot.

Friday night we played Colorado, and I nodded to Morelli and Savard during warmups. That photo of the three of us had meant something. Seeing them in person confirmed that it hadn’t been a casual gesture, that they’d meant it. Like proof that this was survivable.

The game was close. We won 3–2, and I played okay. Not great, but okay.

After, in the hallway outside the locker room, Morelli found me.

“Briggs. Good game.”

“You too.” I shook his hand. “That goal in the second was a beauty.”

“Thanks.” He glanced around, lowering his voice slightly. “You holding up okay? I know the first few weeks are rough.”