Page 165 of Full Contact

“She’s making preparations,” I said. “She’s increased her sleep to twenty hours a day and restricted her media availability to Anna and the pigeons.”

My teammates laughed.

Pratt was taping his blocker at the end of the row. He hadn’t laughed. When the noise died down, he lifted his head.

“What did she do this morning?” he asked, quietly.

That got a bigger laugh than anything I’d said.

“She slept,” I said.

Pratt nodded and tore off another strip of tape. Across the room, Kieran glanced at me for half a second, then bent over his skate.

Rook stayed on the bench beside me after the others headed out. He worked at a knot in his lace.

“For years,” he said, “I told Varga things were good for both of us. I said it was practical. Mostly I was scared. He lived with that a long time before I admitted it.”

“He forgave you.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt him.” He set his skate down. “What do you want Mark to do?”

The clock over the door said nine twenty. In New York, Mark was already sitting across the table from the league suits.

“Take the interview seriously,” I said. “It’s a big promotion. He earned it. I don’t want him turning it down and regretting it in five years because—“

Rook waited, the way he waited out a forward hoping he’d commit first.

I stared at the floor between my skates. “I want him in my life.”

“Did you tell him that?”

I’d told Mark about treatment four days out of seven, and the travel, and Andrew. I’d covered every way it could go wrong. I’d skipped the part where I told him that I wanted him.

“Not like that,” I said. “I’ve known for years what I did wrong with an ex. I just did a different version of it with Mark.”

Rook stood and tucked his helmet under his arm.

“Then you know what to fix,” he said. “Fix it this time.”

After practice I went home and sat on the couch. I didn’t turn on the TV or pick up a book. Peaches took the lamp end. The bag I’d packed the night before sat by the door: a clean shirt, a toothbrush, and a book for the plane.

I opened the photos on my phone and found the one Kelsey had sent to the list from Springfield. Mark sat in Russ’s kitchen with a mug of coffee, laughing at something off camera. That afternoon I’d asked him whether he wanted to go somewhere. He’d told me he was happy where he was.

I still wanted time alone. That wouldn’t change. What had to change was treating every evening I wanted for myself as proof that Mark and I couldn’t work.

New York was still there, and the league wanted him. Distance wouldn’t be easy. Mark had done it once, and I knew how it had ended.

I opened the team calendar and scrolled past the last possible game date into July. I’d always treated the offseason as spoken for. Most of it belonged to the strength coach. A man could spend some of that time in New York and still train properly.

The flight was booked. Markel had cleared the day. Anna was coming at nine tonight so I wouldn’t have to wake her at four. Everything was arranged.

Except for one thing.

I couldn’t guarantee Mark would want to try again.

***

I drove back for treatment at four. The trainer put me face down on the table with an ice pack strapped to my hip, and for twenty minutes I listened to the whirlpool humming in the next room and did arithmetic. The interview had started that morning. It had been over for hours. By now the league had made Mark an offer or told him they’d be in touch.