One text on my phone.
Maggie:Saw the news. Kieran signed! That's good for you, right?
Heath:Yeah. Good news.
Three minutes later, my phone buzzed again.
Maggie:Heath.
Just my name. No question mark. The single word my sister used when she could hear the shape of what I wasn't saying, even in text, from hundreds of miles away.
I didn't reply.
The extension meant stability. Kieran's name locked to the roster for two years. The line preserved.
I waited for the exhale. The release. The specific physical sensation of a threat passing.
It didn't come.
I didn't know what signing cost yet. Kieran's voice in the garage told me it had cost something. I couldn't let go of the fact that he paid for it without telling me what the price was.
I sat on the kitchen floor with my back against the cabinet. The radiator clanked and ticked its two-and-one pattern. Outside, a siren rose and faded on Ashland, folding into the ambient hum of the city.
My apartment held me. Everything held.
Except for one thing I couldn't name.
Chapter sixteen
Kieran
Dad called minutes after I signed the extension.
"Smart decision, son."
I stood in the hallway outside Thompson's office with my back against the wall.
"Thanks, Dad."
"The term is right. Two years gives you a runway without over-committing. Your agent structured the no-move clause well. I'd have pushed for partial, but the market's soft for wingers."
"He did good work," I said.
"Your mother's thrilled. She wants dinner when we're next in town. I told her The Laughlin, they've redone the private dining room."
"Sure."
"I'm proud of you, Kieran."
It was warm enough to sound human. I didn't doubt he meant it. It showed I was committing to the system, the one he endorsed after it rewarded him so handsomely.
I pocketed the phone. My left hip was stiff from the morning skate. I'd been pulled out halfway through. Thompson'sassistant appeared at the bench with the efficiency of someone delivering a subpoena.
Through the wall, I heard the muffled thud of pucks hitting boards. Morning skate still running.
Heath was on the ice. Running reps. Finding lanes the way he always found them, by refusing to leave the space everyone else abandoned. He didn't know his name had been on a trade package forty-eight hours ago. He didn't know that three teams had called, and he didn't know the reason those calls had stopped.
The locker room was half-empty. I sat in my stall and pressed my palms flat against my thighs.
