Roman made a low sound. “Of course he did.”
I looked at him. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s being noble and I should just accept it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it with your goalie face.”
“My goalie face has saved this franchise from several defensive collapses and one mascot lawsuit.”
“Roman.”
He stopped walking.
So did I.
A truck beeped somewhere behind us. A door opened near the loading dock and shut again. The normal morning business of the rink kept happening without permission.
Roman looked at me for a long second. “I think he’s a grown man who gets to decide what he can live with. I also think you’rea grown man who gets to say you don’t want to be carried like a wounded bird.”
My chest squeezed. “I’m not a wounded bird.”
“You are the loudest wounded bird I’ve ever met.”
“Fuck off.”
“There he is.”
I rubbed my thumb over the coffee lid until the plastic edge bent. “I don’t want him to lose his job because of me.”
“If he loses something, it won’t be because of you alone.”
“That’s not better.”
“No,” Roman said. “It’s just truer.”
I hated that too.
He shifted his cup to his other hand. “You told your dad?”
I nodded.
“How’d it go?”
“He asked if Declan was good to me before he got mad about anything else.”
Roman’s face softened in a way he would deny under oath. “Sounds like Cal.”
“He also said not to let guilt make every decision and not to let Declan take all the damage because I’m scared.”
“Smart man.”
“Annoying family trait.”
“You call Harper?”
