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"Marrack told him to," Nico says, looking out the windshield. "Before the third period. In the room. He came up to Theo at his stall and said, take their best defenceman out of the series. That was me. I was their best defenceman."

"He told him to hit you from behind."

"No." Nico turns and looks at me. "That's the thing. That's the part Theo always says first, every time, like he's scared I'll forget it. Marrack didn't say how. He said take him out. And Theo was twenty and on a scholarship that Marrack could pull any time he wanted, and his mom cleans offices at night, and he went out for the third period, and I went into the corner, and he saw my numbers." His voice wobbles for the first time. "And he decided. Right there. He says he had a whole second and he decided. He never, ever says it wasn't him."

I can't get a word out.

"He took all of it," Nico says. "The suspension. The video. Harrow cut him in May and Marrack stood up at a press conference and said they had zero tolerance for that kind of play. And Theo never said a word. Because Marrack's got Cole and Mikey and like six other guys' scholarships in his pocket, and he made sure Theo knew it."

"The handshake line," I say. "In October."

"What?"

"Nothing." I put my hands on the wheel. "Keep going."

"I told Halvorsen."

I turn my head.

"In September," Nico says. "Before the semester. I called him and told him everything Theo told me. I told him there was a kid at Harrow who was going to get blackballed for something his coach set up, and that the kid was sorry, and that he was the best pure shooter I'd ever played against, and nobody else was going to touch him." He laughs a little. It sounds awful. "Coach said it was the craziest phone call he'd gotten in thirty years. He said he'd heard stories about Marrack for a long time. And then he called Theo."

The scholarship nobody could explain.

The empty room on Birch Street that Halvorsen wouldn't let me keep empty.

How's the new guy.

"You've been texting him," I say. "All year."

"Every day. Almost every day."

"Through the wall. At one in the morning. Laughing."

Nico's quiet for a moment. "Probably. Yeah. He's funny, D. He's so funny. He sends me pictures of Walter."

I put my forehead down on the steering wheel.

"You knew he lived in your room," I say into the wheel. "You knew he was next to me."

"Yeah."

"And you didn't say anything. At Thanksgiving. On the phone. You asked about him, and you didn't⁠—"

"He asked me not to."

I lift my head.

"He asked me not to," Nico says again. "In September. Over and over. He said, if he hates me, let him. I earned it." Nico's mouth twists. "I told him that was stupid. I told him you'd listen. He said you shouldn't have to. He said you'd lost enough and you didn't need to lose being angry too."

The car is very quiet. Snow's starting to come down, slow, big flakes in the light from the lamp.

"I thought he was being dramatic," Nico says. "I thought you'd be a dick to him for a couple weeks and then you'd figure out he wasn't who you thought. I figured you'd see him." He looks at me. "So. Did you?"

I don't answer.

"Dane." His voice changes. "What did you do?"

I could lie. I've been lying to my brother for six months. Fine. He's fine. I'm fine.