Page 113 of No Defense

The Ironhawks won the game. Pratt returned wearing a red t-shirt and jeans.

He'd texted me about when he'd be home, and I putRumourson the turntable in preparation. The bass and drum intro kicked in as he walked through the door. It didn't take long for him to recognize the song, "You Make Loving Fun."

I whispered, "Truth," and signaled for him to join me on the couch. I leaned in and we kissed. The record kept going, and by the time I was aware again of our surroundings, the music had long stopped.

I thought about Bryan, and it stayed where it was. It wasn't gone, but it stayed contained, where I knew I could find it.

Pratt rubbed his thumb against my arm. "Morning skate at nine," he said.

"I know the schedule."

He got up to turn the record over.

***