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"Some version of it, sure."

"Is it in this version for everybody?"

Marc doesn't answer right away. He picks up his water glass. He puts it down again.

"They added the specific language," he says carefully. "Romantic. The captured in photographs part. That's new. They're nervous, Rémy. They've never done this. A hockey player, sure, but a hockey player who—" He stops.

"Who what?"

"Who's out," Marc says. "They love that you're out. That's the selling point. The Play Proud banner, the youth initiative, the story. They want the story." He spreads his hands. "They just don't want pictures."

"So I can be gay," I say, "as long as nobody sees me be gay."

"That's not how I'd put it."

"How would you put it?"

"I'd put it as: you don't have a boyfriend. You're twenty. You're single. It's a clause that doesn't apply to you." He leans forward. "Unless there's something I should know."

I look down at the folder. At the tiny type. Romantic.

"No," I say. "There's nothing you should know."

That's five.

Sorel's waiting outside my building when I get home. He's leaning against my car. Everybody leans on everything.

"I need to talk to you," he says.

"Can it wait? I just had a⁠—"

"No." He pushes off the car. "It can't. I've been waiting since Columbus."

I stop walking.

"The comforter," Sorel says. "In Columbus. On the floor between the beds."

"Sorel—"

"It had feet, Rémy." He's not smiling. "Big ones. Size thirteen. With a black toenail on the left big toe from a blocked shot. I've seen that toenail in the shower a hundred times."

I don't say anything. I stand there on the sidewalk in front of my building with the Frostline folder under my arm.

"I'm not mad about him," Sorel says. "I want you to know that first. I'm not mad about him. I don't care about that. I'm happy for you. Or I will be, when I'm done being mad."

"What are you mad about?"

"You lied to me." His voice cracks. Sorel's voice never cracks. "Twice. At the youth thing, and at the hotel. I asked you straight out. You'd tell me if there was something. You looked right at me and said there's nothing. I'm your best friend, Rémy. I brought you pierogi."

"I know."

"I brought you pierogi."

"I know, Sorel." My eyes are stinging. "I'm sorry. He asked me not to tell anybody. It was a rule. We had a list."

"A list?"

"It's a long story."