Page 101 of The Grumpy Defenseman
I believed her.
That did not make the bruise disappear.
I held onto her hand and let myself feel the relief of that without mistaking it for repair.
It was choosing the next honest thing, then the one after that.
This was one.
Across the ice, the far door opened. A maintenance worker stepped in, saw us on the bench, hesitated, then wisely decided whatever was happening was above his pay grade and backed out again.
Sam saw it too.
“We are going to be gossip by noon.”
“Probably earlier.”
“You seem calm about that.”
“I am trying something new.”
“Emotional maturity?”
“Do not insult me before breakfast.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, really lifted, and I let her.
No camera.
No glass between us.
Just her eyes and my face and the choice not to look away.
“What now?” she asked.
The same question Lena had asked me without asking.
The same question I had been avoiding for years.
I squeezedher hand once.
“Now we go to work,” I said. “And when it gets hard, we tell the truth before it becomes damage.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
That was the word again.
That word.
Small. Plain. Enough.
We stood from the bench together.
At the tunnel, she reached for her camera bag.
Then she stopped and looked back at me.
