Page 37 of Full Contact

Rook was in the video room when I arrived at the arena that afternoon. He had footage paused on the screen.

“Their entries,” he said. “Watch the far winger.”

I watched. The winger delayed at the line, half a beat, every time, waiting for the defense to commit before picking his lane.

“He’s reading us.”

“He’s reading you. You bite on the carry.”

“I did that once.”

“Twice,” Rook said. He backed the clip up and let it run. He was right. I pulled up a penalty kill from the same game and showed him the seam that opened behind him when he fronted the shot. He watched it three times.

“Huh,” he said.

After all our seasons together, we could still hand each other something useful.

It was Rook’s last regular-season game in Boston. Nobody mentioned it. He blocked two shots in the first period and told the trainer they were nothing.

The game that night was heavy and close, and we won it in a way that would look better on the scoresheet than it had felt from the ice. I did my interviews, took the bus back, ate, and wanted exactly three things: a shower, my own bed, and the flight that would deliver the second one tomorrow.

Mark’s update arrived while I was eating the second half of a room-service sandwich.

Mark: Launch survived. The banner arrived with the typo fixed, the mascot showed up on the correct day, and the stage only tried to kill me once.

The photograph attached showed him beside a tall display of books, one hand flat against its frame, holding it at a precarious angle. His jacket was still perfect.

I enlarged it. Mark’s tie had slipped sideways, and a strand of hair hung over his forehead. He was looking past the camera. I stared for thirty more seconds.

Trier: Did the display survive?

Mark: Barely. Three hundred kids got library cards. The plant covered nothing because they’d fixed the banner.

Trier: You sound disappointed.

Mark: I had a very good plant on standby.

Trier: Are you at the facility Thursday when we’re back?

Mark: Morning through mid-afternoon. Why?

Trier: The birthday episode. I want to see the harness options before Priya orders anything. She sends links. I want to see the actual colors.

Mark: You want a swatch meeting?

Trier: I want an accurate swatch meeting.

Mark: Thursday, my office, I’ll have the samples. Bring your expertise.

I checked the landing time against his message. Even with traffic, I could get home, see Peaches, and be at his office before lunch.

Anna’s update was waiting in our thread, sent at seven Chicago time, right on schedule: medication done, dinner picked at, Peaches settled early in the window bed. The photograph showed her curled tighter than usual, nose tucked. Sleeping off a big afternoon, Anna wrote. She’d watched the courtyard birds through the glass for an hour.

Trier: Tell her I’m back tomorrow.

Anna: She knows the suitcase schedule better than you do.

I answered Mark’s last message, confirmed Thursday, and set my alarm for the morning flight.