Page 84 of Empty Net

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Maybe not everything. Maybe not Caleb. Maybe yes. Cole is quiet, not blind. He has probably known for a while, maybe since before I did, because people who have had to fight for ordinary learn to recognize hiding by its outline.

The knowing did not come with a demand.

No question. No hurt. No why didn't you tell us. No room full of faces waiting for me to translate fourteen seasons into a digestible announcement. Just: I see you. Whenever you're ready. Also, don't make me emotionally competent again.

I laugh once.

Small. In the trainer's room. Alone.

Katie walks back in and stops. "Did you just laugh?"

"No."

"Concerning."

"Your tape work startled me."

"My tape work is excellent."

"Then it wasn't that."

She points at me with the roll of tape. "Ice for ten more minutes."

"Yes, Mom."

"Wrong woman, same authority."

I sit ten more minutes.

Later, in the hallway, Gerald looks up from his desk before I say anything.

"Good game," he says.

This is unprecedented.

Gerald says morning. Gerald occasionally says Nolan now, which is still a recent and destabilizing development. Gerald does not comment on games. Games are temporary. Gerald comments on people by refusing to comment on them directly.

"Thanks," I say.

He folds his newspaper. "Two assists."

"One was empty net."

"Still counts."

"Barely."

"They all count when they write them down."

I stop with my hand on the strap of my bag.

Gerald looks at me over the desk. His eyes are old and steady and not impressed by hockey players pretending numbers do not matter when the numbers are favorable.

"You watch the games?" I ask.

"Some."

"Didn't know that."

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