Cold air hit my face and helped. Not enough. Some. I grabbed my phone and shoved it into my hoodie pocket, then locked the car twice because I couldn’t remember if I’d done it the first time even though I had heard the beep. Roman didn’t comment. He started walking, slow, coffee in hand, cutting a path along the edge of the lot where nobody from media would bother us.
For a minute, neither of us said anything.
That was one of the reasons Roman was my best friend. He knew quiet wasn’t empty just because I kept trying to fill it.
Finally he said, “Today?”
I nodded. “Afternoon. They moved it from nine. Counsel wanted everyone in person and one ownership rep was flying in.”
“Who’s in the room?”
“Ownership, Whitaker, hockey ops, HR counsel, Marlene. Our lawyers on call, not in the room unless it turns ugly.” I kicked a tiny piece of gravel and watched it skitter across the asphalt. “Tessa will probably be nearby with a fire extinguisher and a list of my crimes.”
“Long list.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Roman sipped his coffee. “You got your statement?”
“Yeah.”
“You memorizing it?”
“Trying not to. If I memorize it, then I’ll mess up one word and my brain will declare the whole thing unusable.”
“Good. Read it if you need to.”
“I hate reading off my phone like I’m giving a wedding toast.”
“This isn’t a charm contest.”
“I know.”
He glanced at me. “Do you?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it.
The thing about Roman was that he didn’t ask questions to fill space. He asked them because he’d already seen the answer leaking out of me.
“I know,” I said, quieter. “I’m just used to being able to make people laugh when they’re mad. Or skate hard enough that everyone forgets the other stuff. Or talk fast until the room moves on.”
“This room won’t move on because you’re entertaining.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem.”
We reached the far end of the lot and turned back.
The building looked bigger from a distance. Stupid thought, because buildings did not grow just because your life might implode inside them, but there it was.
Roman walked beside me, shoulder close but not touching. “How’s he?”
I didn’t pretend not to know who he meant.
“Controlled,” I said. “Which is sometimes how you know he’s bad.”
Roman nodded.
“He talked to his attorney yesterday. They told him suspension is possible. Review. Maybe changing who supervises my discipline or evaluations. Maybe more than that.” My throat went dry. I took another drink. “He said he’s willing to make professional sacrifices.”
