“Goodnight, Lucy.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. She kisses my cheek, fast and warm. Her smell hits me directly in the chest, and then she walks around me toward her front door.
She pulls her keys out of her jacket pocket, unlocks the door, steps inside, and the door closes behind her. I stand on the curbwatching the door for another ten seconds before I get back in the truck.
When I get back to Hawthorne, Stanley is on the couch with two of the people, and the freshman is, somehow, still face down on the cushion at the other end. The music is off now. They’re talking quietly. Stanley sees me come in.
“Be careful, Reeve.”
“What?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Hockey is the only place I know what I’m doing, Stan.”
He cackles. He is too tired to laugh fully, but he tries.
“Fair, Reeve. Fair.”
“You going to bed?”
“In a minute.”
“Hit the sack soon. You’re gonna feel it tomorrow.”
I climb the stairs. I get to my room and close the door behind me. I leave the light off and lie down on top of the comforter in my t-shirt and jeans. My mind’s churning, and I know I need to address my sister again. Lucy left because she’s afraid of her. That is the thought I’m sitting with.
I wake up at seven-twelve. My shoulder’s sore, and I know exactly why. I roll out of bed and drink a full glass of water. I put on a clean shirt, gym shorts, a hoodie, and my Crocs because I am not, this morning, capable of tying real shoes. I grab my keys.
The house is quiet. Stanley is on the couch right where he was last night, mouth open, the freshman still face down. Blue is at the kitchen island with a coffee and his laptop. He looks up when I come downstairs.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Where are you going?”
“The rink.”
“Why?”
“My sister.”
His eyes widen. “Have fun with that.”
I walk out the back door, get in my truck, and drive to the rink. I get to the rink at eight. The parking lot has six cars in it, all of which I recognize. Coach’s truck. The two assistant coaches. Frank’s Buick. The trainer’s Subaru. And Gianna’s.
I sit in the truck for a beat with my hands on the wheel.
I’m nervous like hell. My stomach is turning. I get out of the truck, ready to get this over with.
The back door is unlocked because Frank is here. The hallway smells like rubber matting and detergent. The lights in the locker room are on, but the locker room is empty. The equipment room door at the end of the hallway is open. I can hear Gianna’s voice talking to someone.
She is laughing her fake laugh, which means one of the assistants is in there with her. I keep walking. I get to the equipment room door and lean on the frame.
She is on the floor with two duffels open in front of her, sorting practice jerseys into stacks by number. The trainer’s assistant — a junior named Kev — is at the wall hanging fresh tape rolls on the pegboard. Coach’s stick rack is being rebuilt against the back wall by someone I don’t see.
When Gianna sees me, her face goes through three things in two seconds. Surprise. Then anger.
