“I don’t know, it would be kind of awkward.”
“It wouldn’t hurt. You’re getting a little chubby.”
He looks at himself a minute and then goes back to drinking my tea. Why the hell is he drinking it if it’s so damn disgusting?
“I don’t think I need to, by this point.”
“You’re not going to play again?”
“I’m thirty-two, Ian.”
“That’s only two years older than me.”
“And I’ve been out of the loop for a while now.”
“You also still have a contract.”
“A pro forma contract.”
“Got it.”
“I had to.”
“You had other choices.”
“Not aftersomeonedecided to steal my place on the team.”
“Nick, come on…”
“Okay, okay. I’ll knock it off.”
“How’s Ryan doing?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because he doesn’t talk about himself. He’s an O’Connor.”
“He’s terrible. Worse off now than when he left.”
I run my hand roughly through my hair. Why does nothing ever go right around here?
“How about you?”
“Huh?”
“How are you?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.”
He shakes his head. “You’re an O’Connor too.”
I really wish that were true.
* * *
Fifteen years earlier
“Here,” Karen shows me to a bedroom. “This is Ryan’s room.”
