Page 47 of Across His Line

He says it the way he says everything, like it’s already happened and he’s just letting me know. He buttons his coat. He nods at Martin. He goes back up the stairs into the building with no sign on it, and he doesn’t look back.

And the worst part, the part I sit with in the back of the car the whole hour north with my forehead against the cold window, is that he might be right.

He did something I wanted. Something I’ve wanted since I was six and someone handed me a stick. He did it in exactly the way I hate most, behind my back, through my coach, in his tie, at his table. But he did it. And somewhere down the road, if I’m standing on a stage next June and some team I’ve never played for calls my name, he’s going to be in the audience in a navy suit, and he’s going to look at me like he paid for it.

I check her dot at the highway.

Theta.

I check it at the exit.

Theta.

Martin drops me in front of Corvin past midnight and doesn’t say good night. I go up the three flights with my tie pulled loose and my jacket over my shoulder, past her door, which is dark. Of course it’s dark. She isn’t in there.

My room is empty. Kennebeck’s bag is on his bed, still zipped, still wet from the rink. The window is open. It’s fresh air in here.

I stand in the middle of it in my father’s tie.

My whole life changed tonight. A man who runs a draft board sat across from me and told me he’d be around. My team won a game I wasn’t in. My father did the only thing I’ve ever wanted and made sure I’d owe him for it until I die.

I take my phone out.

Theta.

She’s still there. I rub my jaw because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that. I know I don’t fucking like it. That’s all.

I pull the tie off and throw it on the bed. I take off my shoes and line them up under the desk the way my mother taught me. I sit on the edge of my bed, unbutton my cuffs, and roll them up. I make it five whole minutes, then pick the phone back up, and it buzzes in my hand before I can unlock it.

Kennebeck: You back?

Me: Yeah.

Kennebeck: We won.

Me: I know.

Kennebeck: Kylie’s at Theta. Barnes and me are heading over. Come.

I look at it.

There’s my reason. We won. Kennebeck asked. Barnes is going. I missed the game, and I sat through four hours of my father’s friends, and I want a drink, and nobody in the world would think twice about a guy going to a party after his team won. I’d be going for the team. I’d be going for Kennebeck, who doesn’t ask twice. I’d be going for a beer.

I don’t change. If I change, I decided to go to a party. If I stay like this, I just walked out the door. So I put the shoes back on. I leave the tie on the bed. I leave the shirt open at the collar and the sleeves rolled, and I get my long dark coat off the hook, the one my mother bought, the one I’ve never worn anywhere but rooms like the one I just left.

I’m going to look insane at Theta. I don’t care.

My phone buzzes one more time.

Kennebeck: 14 Greer St.

Kennebeck sends me the address.

I don’t need it.

I’ve been staring at it for three hours.

I put on my coat.