Chapter 4: The Clean Feed

On Thursday afternoon I walked into Northline Arena and asked for the person in charge of the giant screen.

The woman at the ticket window looked at me twice.

"You're her," she said. "You're the ring lady."

"I'm Hallie," I said. "I need the whole video from Tuesday night. Not the one on the internet. The one the cameras took."

Colby had been telling people for two days that the clip was cut short.

He told his mother he'd pushed Delaney away.

He told his boss it was a joke that got out of hand.

He told me, in a long voicemail with a catch in his voice, that I would feel foolish when I saw the rest.

I wanted to see the rest.

I wanted to see exactly how foolish I was going to feel.

The woman sent me down a concrete hallway that smelled like floor cleaner and old popcorn.

A man in a headset told me the control room did not give out footage.

"Media office does," he said. "Media office is closed until Monday."

"I can wait."

"They'll say no on Monday too, ma'am. It's team property."

I stood in the hallway with my coat on and my hands in my pockets, trying not to cry in front of a man holding a clipboard.

That was when I heard skates on rubber matting, and a low voice said, "Who's this?"

I turned around.

He was tall, in a gray team hoodie, with wet dark hair and a bag over one shoulder.

His nose had been broken at least once and set a little to the left.

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