“We’re not agreed on shit,” Owen mumbles under his breath. In spite of his bluster, he still gets up and shuffles toward the door.
I rise to my feet and straighten my blazer. The smile I offer Dante is as wide as Adler’s, but with more teeth. “My firm will be in touch about the new contract.”
Sergio gets halfway out of his chair before Dante circles around to clap a hand to his shoulder and shove him back into the seat.
I only feel a tiny bit guilty when I close the door on them.
Owen and I walk side by side on our way out of the office. Close enough that I can feel the tension coming off him, even without looking. Renee leads us into the hall.
“Wow,” I say, loud enough for Owen to hear. “Is he always that intense?”
Owen turns his head a few degrees and nods once. Ooooo-kay.
Renee stops by the elevators. “There’s an empty office downstairs, near the PT room. You can have some privacy there. You know the one I mean?”
Owen nods again. This man is a locked door with an alarm system. At least I’m not the only person who gets the silent treatment.
We leave Renee and ride the elevators in silence. I don’t know what to say, and it seems that Owen has never heard of small talk.
On the first floor, we pass a cluster of Owen’s teammates. They all huddle together and whisper like middle school girls. Adler laughs at something one of the other guys says and waves his arm over his head. “REMYYYYY!You coming to my game night? You could wear my number!”
I don’t even have time to react before Owen does.
Owen finds his voice. “Stop,” he barks.
Sharp. Immediate. Not joking.
Adler presses two fingers to his lips and blows me a kiss. “Okay.”
I would bet money that he absolutely will not stop.
Owen walks faster until we reach the office Renee mentioned. It’s furnished but sparse, with only a desk and three chairs. I take one. I expect Owen to sit across from me, but to my surprise, he sits next to me. Closer than necessary. Close enough that I notice. I’m momentarily confused until I realize that, this way, he doesn’t have to make eye contact with me.
“Want to talk about what happened?” I turn my chair to face him.
Owen sniffs. He rolls his shoulders. He rubs both hands on the back of his neck. I don’t know how long we sit there in silence, but I can go all day.
I don’t rush him. People like Owen don’t talk more when you push. They shut down.
“I—” He cuts himself off and lets his head roll forward. “He shoved Lennie too hard.”
“Oh.” I assumed that we’d start with Dante, but nothing about today has gone how I expected, so why start now? “Yeah, I saw.”
“I wasn’t going to hit him.”
“Okay.”
He makes a rumbling noise of frustration. “You don’t believe me.”
“Whatwereyou going to do?”
“When people…” He sighs again and rubs his forehead. I resist the urge to press him. That’s what people must do with him all the time. He doesn’t talk much. He takes time to think before he opens his mouth, and most people don’t wait for him to find the words in his own time.
I’m suddenly reminded of how Dad used to talk, right after my mother died. He’d start a sentence and just trail off, overwhelmed by his emotions and the fact that he’d grown up being told that real men don’t let their feelings show.
So I give Owen time to figure out what exactly he wants to say.
“The other night. In the crease. Before my suspension.” Owen’s throat bobs. “I was worried about my mom.”
