Page 38 of The Grumpy Defenseman
I did not have to look. I knew Brick’s footfalls.
He came around to the front of the machine and looked at the stack.
“You’re doing six-twenty without a spotter,” he said.
“Five-seventy.”
“You added the plate when I came in.”
“Then it’s six-twenty.”
He did not smile.
That was the first sign.
He was not smiling now.
He sat on the bench across from me with his elbows on his knees and his hands loose between them, the way he sat in front ofrookies when something in their game had to be said out loud. He waited until I racked the weight.
Then he said, “You’re done.”
It was not a question.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Get up.”
I sat up and wiped my face with the front of my shirt. The room felt smaller than it had twenty seconds ago.
“Brick.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Whatever you’re about to say. The version where you explain it. Don’t.”
I closed my mouth.
He held my eyes until the silence had weight.
“Sit,” he said.
“I already am.”
“Then sit and look at me. Not the floor.”
I looked at him.
“You snapped at her in frontof the room.”
“I know.”
“In front of Sully. In front of Mack. In front of two rookies who think you walk on water. In front of Sam.”
The name hit harder because he had not called her Sam to my face before.
I did not answer.
