Page 22 of Home Ice

“Who wrote the contract?” he asked.

“Lawyers on both sides,” Max said. “Rafe’s agent went through it line by line, and his agent’s good. There’s a walk-away clause. Either of us can end it with a text—no penalty and no explanation owed.”

“And when it ends.” My father picked his fork back up. “What happens to him?”

“It gets announced that two nice young men decided they’re better as friends. Everybody’s sad for a weekend, and it does neither of us any harm at all.”

I said nothing. I ate, listened, and passed the dishes asked for.

“Twenty years old,” my mother said, half to herself, working on her plate. “And he stood up in front of everybody.”

“He stood up in front of his team when he came out,” Max said.

“What did they do?” Ma asked.

“Changed their power-play plans,” I said.

The words tumbled out without thinking. Everyone looked at me. I spooned more meat into a taco shell.

“It’s in the coverage,” I said. “His captain moved the meeting along. I saw it somewhere.”

Yiayia had asked nothing yet. She’d eaten one taco, slowly, with a knife and fork, and she watched Max the entire time.

“Does he laugh?” she asked.

Max blinked. “Does he—“

“You’re funny,” she said. “People laugh at what you do all day. They push the button, and you make them laugh. Does he laugh?”

My brother was never at a loss for an answer, but Yiayia’s question stopped him.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “He doesn’t laugh out loud much, but he’s got this one where the corner of his mouth goes up just a bit, and then he’s serious again, fast.” Max demonstrated badly. “It’s better than an actual laugh, honestly. I have to work for it.”

“Hm,” my grandmother said, and picked her fork back up.

I had spent two hours with the man, and I could have told her about Rafe’s shoulders and the handshake and the care he took when holding one of my pieces for the first time. Still, I couldn’t answer the question about whether he laughed. I saw him smile—once.

“Okay, but what’s he actually like?” Ma asked, leaning in, with both elbows on the table. “Not in front of the cameras. Him.”

Max smiled and reached for his phone.

“He sent this before the game,” Max said. “This afternoon.”

He began reading. Sorry to miss taco Sunday. Tell your mom thanks for inviting me even though I—“

He cleared his throat, and all the surrounding conversations ended.

“Tell your mom thanks for inviting me, even though I couldn’t make it. I’ll fix that. Question for your grandmother — the cedar chest at the shop, is there a maker’s mark under the lid? Rook told me a lot of the old shops burned one into the underside where nobody looks. I didn’t want to open it. Anyway. Game at 5. Tacos for me next time.”

Max stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

“He asked about the chest,” my grandmother said.

“Yes, he did.”

“How does he know about my chest?”

“It was at Niko’s workshop. It’s such a beautiful piece. I pointed it out.”