Page 318 of Face Off

“Your cooking requires an apology.”

I lift his suitcase into the truck bed and secure it beside the duffel. Briggs climbs into the passenger seat without arguing, which worries me more than the dead jokes.

The drive from the airport begins in silence. Milwaukee moves outside the windows while Briggs keeps his face turned toward the city. His knee bounces beneath one hand, but the rest of him remains still.

“You get Lyric’s things out?” he asks eventually.

“Yeah.”

“All of them?”

“Everything building management could identify as hers.”

His jaw shifts. “Did she fight it?”

“Not with me.”

He glances over. “I can only imagine how that went. What did you say?”

“I explained the situation.”

“You threatened people.”

“I explained what would happen if the situation wasn’t handled.”

“That’s a threat.”

“That’s interpretation.”

Briggs almost smiles. The expression disappears before it fully forms.

“Thanks,” he says.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know.”

We stop at a light. Briggs looks toward the high-rise buildings ahead, and I force myself not to ask whether he is all right. The answer is sitting beside me wearing sunglasses over the evidence.

He reaches toward the stereo before stopping. “Did you listen to Rider’s song?”

“The whole flight.”

“Once?”

“Fuck you.”

A weak laugh leaves him. “He said you’d put it on repeat.”

“Rider needs a career that occupies more of his time.”

“He writes music and spends the rest of his time playing weak hockey and chasing small town pussy.”

“He should be on Inferno ice. Better hockey, better pussy and us.”

The light changes, and I drive and he doesn’t say shit when I left it open to his Briggsisms as I call them.

Briggs waits another block before asking, “You okay?”