Page 172 of Full Contact

“After the Final? We could sit down and talk properly.”

“After,” he said.

***

We lost Game Two, four–two. By the time Pratt finished his postgame interviews, he’d been asked about every goal he’d allowed and several shots he’d stopped.

The network producer wanted him back for another interview.

Leah said no. Pratt had done everything required under the broadcast agreement, and she wasn’t pulling him out of the locker room again. Ten minutes later, Tom Kessler from the league’s broadcast office emailed Carla asking Chicago to “show flexibility” for Game Three.

Nobody called Leah. The producer had heard no and gone looking for someone to overrule her.

I told Carla that Leah had my full support and arranged to speak with Kessler at eight the next morning. I called Leah from the parking garage to make sure she heard it from me, then drove home with the radio off.

My condo was quiet. Out on the black lake, a freighter’s deck lights shone in a long row. I stood at the entry table with my keys in my hand. I could read, go to bed, and have the whole place to myself until morning.

Instead, I wanted Trier. I called him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Bad night. Will you come over? I’d like you here.”

“Let me check with Anna. I’ll call you back.”

He returned the call in ten minutes. “She can stay with Peaches. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He arrived carrying a container of Anna’s chili in a grocery bag, with his heating pad tucked under his arm. His limp was worse than it had been at the arena.

“Car ride,” he said when he saw me looking. “I stiffened up.”

He eased onto the sofa while I plugged in the heating pad. I took the chili to the kitchen, then came back and sat beside him.

I started with the broadcast agreement. I explained what Pratt had already done, what the producer had requested, and who had been copied on Kessler’s email. Trier listened while he adjusted the pad against his hip.

Halfway through, I stopped. “That’s the memo version.”

“What’s the other one?”

“Leah did exactly what I asked her to do, and they treated her answer as an obstacle to get around.” I could hear my voice getting louder. “Now she’s home wondering whether she caused a problem, and tomorrow I get to spend my morning defending a decision she had every right to make.”

“Does she know you’re backing her?”

“I called her from the garage.”

“Good.”

“How’s the hip?” I asked.

“Sore.” He shifted the heating pad. “This helps.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“So am I. Have you eaten?”

I hadn’t. Neither had he.

I warmed the chili and brought it over in the shallow bowls Felix despised. Trier took a spoonful, then reached for the crackers I’d put on a plate on the coffee table. It was nearly one thirty.