“Not us,” I object.
“Hey. We get paid well. But I bet we’re nowhere near Mr. D’Agostino’s level of rich. None of us will be buying a hockey team anytime soon.”
“We should totally do that,” Millsy says.
We laugh.
“No, really. Why not? A bunch of us could go together.”
“And buy the Bears?” I hoist an eyebrow.
“Not necessarily the Bears. I don’t mean right this minute. Or even this year. But in the future. We have to do something when we retire.”
“I dunno, dude. I think teams cost a lot more than we can afford. They just paid over six hundred million for the expansion team in Quebec.”
Millsy chokes. “Holy shit. I didn’t realize it was that much.”
“We’d need about six hundred guys to chip in,” Hellsy jokes.
“Mr. D must have a ton of cash,” Millsy says.
“Or a ton of debt,” I point out. Then I stop. I frown. What does Mr. D get for marrying off Emerie to Moretti? Emerie said there was money involved. Why? Isn’t he already rich as fuck?
“Okay. Backtracking,” Hellsy says. “So Emerie’s staying here.”
“Yeah. I can’t let her be homeless.” Or let Moretti stalk her.
“Mr. D ain’t gonna be happy about that.”
He’s not wrong.
“What are you going to do?” Millsy asks.
“She wants to talk to him and try to convince him he needs her to look after her little sister.”
“Does he?”
I squint. “Well. Her sister’s twelve. Not a baby. I kind of have a feeling that Emerie needs to look after Cat more than Cat needs to be looked after.”
“Codependent,” Hellsy says.
I shoot him a surprised glance. “Yeah.”
“Kind of like you and hockey,” Millsy adds.
I frown. “What?”
“You’re so involved with hockey you have no time for anything else in your life.”
“Sure, I do. You guys are sitting here right now.”
Hellsy nods slowly. “True. And you came on that trip with us and actually let your hair down.”
“Because of Emerie,” Millsy points out. “But usually we can’t get you to come out with us. You’re too busy watching hockey. Reading about hockey. Practicing hockey.”
“That’s not codependent,” Hellsy says. “That’s more like addiction.”
I bolt upright, my hands curling into fists. “What the fuck?”
They all give me a weird look.
My heart is thudding. I try to calm down. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, there’s more to life than hockey.”
My heart’s going to bust out of my chest. Jesus. “I know that.”
But do I? I was the same as Emerie when we were sitting on that plane. She was in tears about leaving Cat behind, and I was antsy about taking a week off from training and skating.
Huh.
“So you think Emerie’s co-dependent?” Hellsy says.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s at the point where it’s unhealthy, but Emerie’s really attached to Cat. I can’t help but think it might be good for Cat to be more independent. And for Emerie to have more of a life.”
“Twelve’s not that old,” Millsy points out.
“True. What do I know?” I throw my hands up. “I just want to support Emerie. I want to go punch Moretti in the face. And Mr. D too.”
“Don’t do that.”
I blow out a breath. “I know.”
“You got any better snacks than flax crackers and kale chips?” Millsy asks.
“Nope.”
He sighs heavily.
“Okay, that is insane.” Hellsy points at the TV where figure skating is now airing. “She let him throw her up in the air, trusting that he’s going to catch her.”
“He did catch her.” Millsy shrugs.
“But what if he didn’t? Holy shit.”
We watch more.
“Her face is right in his junk,” Millsy comments a few second later on a lift the couple is doing, the girl upside down.
“It is.” I say. Then, “Okay, I don’t think that’s safe.” Now they’re doing some move where the guy is totally supporting the woman and they’re both spinning. “How are they going to get out of that without someone losing an ear?”
They shake their heads.
“Remember when we had a figure skating teacher come work with us when we played for the Warriors?” Hellsey asks Millsy.
He laughs. “We could not keep up with her.”
“True.” Hellsy nods. “They make it look easy because they train so hard. It’s not that easy.”
The couple on TV does what the announcers term a “death spiral.”
“Appropriate name,” I say. “Look at that! Her head is touching the ice!”
“Not many sports are played to music,” Hellsy muses.
“I don’t understand the judging,” I add. “I kind of like games where you score a goal and it’s totally objective.”
“Well, not always,” Millsy points out. “That last goal we had reviewed was not objective.”’
“It was bullshit,” Hellsy adds.
“Well, most of the time it’s objective. I like things logical. Black and white.”
“Nothing’s black and white, man,” Hellsy says, giving me a sympathetic look. “Get used to it.”
I swallow my sigh, still pondering his comments about my commitment to hockey. Commitment. Not addiction, for Chrissake. I’m not like my brother.
We’re watching TV the next might when Emerie’s phone rings. She picks it up. “Huh. Klara.” She answers the call. “Hi!”
I can hear Klara’s voice but not exactly what she’s saying.
“She what?” Emerie says, shooting upright. “Oh my God!”
I watch her more closely.
“Is she okay?”
I frown.
“Oh my God. I’ll be right over.” She ends the call and turns to me, her eyebrows drawn together.
“What’s going on?”
“Cat’s at Klara’s. She ran away from home.”
20
Owen
“She doesn’t know where you live,” Emerie continues. She closes her eyes. “Shit.”
“She’s okay?”
“She’s safe. Obviously she’s not okay, since she ran away from home.”
“True. Damn. Okay, let’s go.”
“You don’t have to come with me.”
“Of course I’m coming with you.” I stand.
“Thank you.” She looks like she’s going to cry but grabs her purse. We pull on our jackets and ride the elevator down to the parking garage.
“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re on 72nd street.
She gives me Klara’s address in Harlem. Her hands curl into fists. “I’m getting more and more angry at Vince.”