Page 162 of The Off Limits Captain
“You don’t captain this room.”
Evan goes still.
I hear it the moment after it leaves my mouth.
The same beat.
The one Peyton saw.
The one where truth and damage stand close enough to trade jerseys.
Evan pushes off the wall. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”
He walks.
I stand in the corridor and do not go after him. There is nothing worth saying yet.
Or there is too much, and none of it will come out right.
Jennifer appears at the corner, phone in hand. “Ryan, media is asking about Finn’s usage.”
“Minutes management.”
“That is what Maren gave us?”
“That is what we are saying.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, not at the answer. At me.
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
The organization asks that question the same way Peyton did.
Different mouth.
Same trap.
“No,” I say.
This time the lie has no technical place to hide.
I leave before Jennifer can read it.
I drive home with the radio off.
The city is still loud through the glass. Playoff flags on bars. Fans in jerseys walking sidewalks. A kid on a corner swinging a foam stick like he has already won the whole thing himself.
They deserve joy.
I know that.
The city does not need to know what a room costs to make it.
At my place, the quiet feels wrong. Too clean. Too private.
Peyton’s coffee mug is in the dish rack from two nights ago.
I see it before I turn on the light.
