Page 130 of Gave Proof Through the Night

Chapter playlist:

Wicked Game — Chris Isaak

Jake asks if I’m going to eat my bacon. I don’t answer. He reaches over and takes it.

The Corcoran Ballroom is set up for morning brunch, and you wouldn’t know there was a black-tie event in here just hours ago. A banner over the buffet says CONGRATULATIONS WEST STARS in gold script and is already crooked at one corner.

The culinary team put on a real spread, but the only thing I want right now is coffee. More coffee. I didn’t sleep at all last night.

Somewhere behind me, Dash is doing a bit with a butter knife, and the guys around him are losing it. Bryce is re-litigating a blown call from Game 4 with anyone who'll listen. Jake's got his elbows on the table, still riding the high from last night.

Tyson stands up two tables over and taps his glass with a fork until the room quiets. Something about brotherhood, something about the ice, something that gets a laugh I don't really hear.

Coach Badaszek claps twice, hard, the way he claps for goals.

I put my phone face-down on the table. Then I turn it back over.

I sent Erica eleven texts since last night. Not one of them answered.

I can’t help it. I have to try again.

Me: You okay?

I delete it. Then try again.

Me: Just tell me you’re safe. I delete that too.

Badaszek drops into the chair beside me before I’ve settled on a better way to not sound so desperate over text messages.

“You didn’t touch your eggs,” he says.

“Not hungry.”

“Mm.” He watches Tyson get needled by Stone about the toast. “Whoever she is,” he says, not looking at me. “Eat something anyway. Can’t chase a woman on an empty stomach.”

I hum a response. He gets up, claps Josh on the shoulder hard enough to make him spill his orange juice, and moves on.

I go back to the phone.

Me: I love you.

I send it before I can think twice.

I put the phone in my pocket and finish a piece of toast I don’t taste.

The room keeps going without me. Someone starts a slideshow on the screen behind the head table, photos from the tournament, Dash mid-air after the OT goal, Josh’s blocker up in front of his face at the buzzer, the parade, the horses, all of it flattened into a highlight reel.

Jake throws a sprig of parsley at me and says something about the picture where I’m mid-celly with my mouth wide open like an idiot. I say something back, but my words sound muffled in my own ears.

I look for a lull in the festivities. A moment I can slip out without anyone noticing. I’ll pull an Erica and say I have to use the restroom.

Another round of coffee comes around.

Badaszek gets pulled into a conversation with Ronnie Irwin about the East coaching staff’s flight times. His back fully to me. My teammates are busy needling each other over what's left of breakfast.

I stand up, fold my napkin once, and walk.

I’m in the lobby before I decide to call Erica instead of sending unanswered texts.