Page 46 of The Grumpy Defenseman

He looked out at the ice instead of at me. For a moment, neither of us said anything. The rink hummed. A puck hit the boards at the far end. Somewhere behind us, a trainer called for someone to stop being stupid, which narrowed the suspect pool only slightly.

“He went looking for you,” Brick said.

My fingers tightened around the camera body.

I did not look at him. “Who?”

Brick gave me the look without turning his head. Somehow, it still landed.

“Yesterday. After practice. He came back. You were gone.”

Something in my stomach tightened, which was extremely unwelcome and rejected on principle.

“I had work to do,” I said.

“Yeah.”

He let the word sit between us. Not judgment. Not agreement. Just a place to stand.

“And before you decide, I’m here to plead his case,” Brick said, “I’m not.”

I looked at him then.

He was still watching the ice.

“Good,” I said. “Because I don’t want a defense attorney.”

“Wouldn’t offer you one. He doesn’t deserve one.”

The bluntness of it took some of the air out of my argument before I could make it.

Brick turned the coffee cup once in his hand.

“He snapped at you. In front of the room. He took something private and made it public in the ugliest possible way. You were right to leave. You were right to pull back. I told him that. Sully told him his own version. Nobody in that room thought you were the problem.”

I swallowed.

“Okay,” I said, because it was the only word I trusted.

Brick nodded once.

“I am going to tell you something else,” he said. “It does not make him right or make what he did smaller. I’m telling you because you deserve the whole picture, and because the whole picture is the only one you ever seem interested in taking.”

That landed closer than I wanted it to.

I looked down at my camera.

“He had a contract call,” Brick said. “Seattle. Big number. Big enough to move the room before the room knew it was moving. He found out in the middle of practice. Came back looking like someone had pulled the ground sideways.”

“How big?” I asked.

“Ninety million, give or take enough money to make the rest of us bitter.”

The number landed with a clean, cold weight.

“That doesn’t excuse it,” I said.

“No.” Brick’s answer came immediately. “It explains the room he was standing in when he did it. That’s all.”