Chapter 8: No Audience

I waited for him in the tunnel after practice.

It was the long concrete passage between the ice and the locker rooms, with a rubber floor and a single buzzing light.

The team came through in twos and threes, soaked and loud, and every one of them looked at me and then very carefully at the ceiling.

Brody came last.

He had his helmet under his arm and his hair stuck to his forehead.

He saw my face and stopped walking.

"You knew," I said.

"Not all of it."

"You knew what Cody was going to say."

"I knew what Kayla was telling people." He set the helmet on the bench. "I didn't know she'd told Cody."

The light buzzed.

"You know her," I said.

"Yes."

"Not from the rink. Not from 'everyone knows her.'"

"No."

I had spent four days telling myself I was reading too much into a look.

Hearing it said out loud was worse.

"How?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, and I watched him decide something.

"I'm going to tell you," he said. "All of it. Before Homecoming. That was the deal, and I meant it."

"That's a promise, not an answer."

"It's the only one I can give you tonight, and I'd rather give you that than something false."

I stared at him.

He didn't look away.

He looked tired and honest and a little sick, and I realized that I believed him.

That was the worst part.

I believed him even though I had no reason to.

"One week," I said.

"One week."

"If you don't tell me, I move out. And I take the toaster."

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