Page 115 of Empty Net

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"And Nolan?"

"Yeah."

"Don't make it a speech."

Cole said that first. Or close enough. You do not owe us a speech. Different room. Same lesson. Apparently everyone has been trying to save me from performing pain at people instead of telling the truth.

"What do I make it?"

"An apology."

I look at the phone. "I don't know how to do that."

"You start with the part where you were wrong."

"That's a lot of parts."

"Then pick one."

We hang up at 6:58 because her kids are awake and someone named Milo has apparently put cereal in Walter's water bowl. Her life continues. Mine sits on the kitchen floor and tries to understand how an article that did not publish still managed to show me exactly what I am capable of doing when afraid.

At 8:15, I drive to the rink.

Not to practice. Practice is optional today. Recovery skate. Video. Media dark. Legal has apparently decided nothing public is happening until they finish containing the site, and Callahan has decided nobody is speaking to anyone whose job title includes content.

I go because the building is the only place I know how to think with my feet.

Gerald is at his desk.

"Morning," he says.

It is actually morning.

"Morning."

I stop.

Gerald looks up from his crossword.

"Bad night?" he asks.

Gerald does not ask questions like that.

Except now he has.

"Yes."

He nods like the answer is not surprising. "You going in or leaving?"

I look down the hallway. Locker room one way. Offices upstairs. Parking deck behind me. Caleb somewhere in this building or not. I do not know. I did not ask.

"I don't know."

Gerald folds the newspaper with old hands. "Sometimes you stand in a doorway long enough, people start thinking you live there."

I look at him.

"That's a very specific criticism."

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