Instead, as I passed, she said, "He'll be home around eleven-thirty."
I stopped at the well for half a second. "Yeah."
"You going?"
"Yeah."
On the post-game broadcast, they cut to a beat reporter outside the locker room, then to footage of Pratt at the small press table, mic clipped to his jersey. He answered the first question.
"I'd like that one back."
Five economical words. The reporter moved on, and the studio cut away.
He appeared in another brief cut. It was one frame, maybe two, of him on his way down the tunnel. He had his helmet in his left hand. His right hand was at his hip, fingers pressing in, followed by a slight wince. He wouldn't have done it on camera if he'd remembered the camera was there.
I was already untying my apron.
"Tomasz."
He came through the swinging door from the back.
"Have to go," I said.
"You sure—"
"Now."
I left.
I reached for the till on autopilot. Nora was at my elbow before I'd opened the drawer. She pushed me away and handed me my coat.
"Cab," she said.
"Walk."
"Sullivan."
"It's faster for me to walk."
I was stretching the truth, but I was already on the move, and I couldn't stand still long enough to wait for a cab. I went out the back and turned north.
In my head, I was already constructing the speech.I had this best friend. His name was Bryan.I didn't have the rest, and I knew I wouldn't sort it out on the walk.
It was eight blocks. I covered them faster than I'd ever done in the past.
Martin looked up from his desk in the lobby. He said nothing.
The elevator was waiting. On the fourth floor, I walked into our hallway.
There was music coming through Pratt's door. I paused. It was Boston, "Peace of Mind."
I stood in the hallway and didn't move for a count of three. Then I crossed to his door and knocked.
