Nineteen #2
“I’m saying that Rake was really concerned about this guy coming after you more than just online.
He was up half the night on the internet looking at everything he could find.
This morning, he was very concerned and even more furious.
So… I kind of maybe agreed that Noah should have his friend take care of this guy. ”
There’s a moment where I feel suspended. As if I’m floating underwater or in space. Weightless. My heart echoes in my ears as I stare unseeing at the ingredients on the counter.
“Coach?”
Egon’s voice brings me back to the moment and everything around me becomes hyper vivid. I can see flecks in my stone countertop that I don’t remember seeing before.
“Egon…” But I’m not sure what I want to ask.
I look at Oren on the couch. The concern on his face. The guilt he’s carrying. Everything he’s been through.
There are only so many ways one can interpret what being silenced means. How would Oren react to his father being murdered? Or disappearing entirely?
I think the last one would be a hard thing to live with. You’d never know if he would randomly show up as a madman with a machete. You’d constantly look over your shoulder. Waiting.
Living your life with that kind of uncertainty and fear could wreck a person.
With the phone in my hand, I do the most reckless thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Heading out to the back porch and turning on the grill—we’re suddenly grilling for lunch—I grip the phone tightly in my hand, keeping an eye on the distant figure of Oren inside. Behind a closed glass door.
“Egon, I’m going to pretend I don’t know this, but I need you to promise me something.”
“What, Coach?”
“If ‘silenced’ means what I’m guessing we both think it means, this man can’t just disappear.
Oren will be waiting for him to randomly reappear his entire life.
That’s a stress he doesn’t deserve. Whatever happens to him, it needs to be definitive.
The entire world needs to know without a doubt.
Understand?” I say, keeping my voice low so no one can hear me except Egon.
“Yes, definitely. I think that’ll…. Uh…. Happen. It kind of sounded like that, anyway.”
“Jesus, Egon. I really don’t want to know this. I don’t live in a movie.”
He laughed. “I want to protect you,” Egon says, and his voice drops, but his words make me understand it’s for a different reason entirely.
“Although under a very different set of circumstances, and in an entirely different way, you protected me. It’s because of you I have a family like I’ve never had before.
I’ll do anything to protect it. Even if that means agreeing to vigilantes or some shit. ”
I sigh, dropping my head back and smile. “Love you too, boy. Let’s never talk about this again.”
“Talk about what?” he asks.
I huff. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks. Hopefully L.A. gets their ass together too.”
Egon snorts. “Yeah. Sure.”
I haven’t stopped thinking about my phone call with Egon. There’s a part of me that wants to warn Oren, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I need to, though. Right? That’s the right thing to do? Jessup Prosser is his father.
No. He’s Oren’s abuser.
I’m so distracted that I register nothing, which is very dangerous since I drove myself to the arena and don’t recall the ride. What snaps me out of my head is the stick on the boards in front of me. I blink back into the moment, looking around a little shell-shocked to know where I am.
Hollinger stands in front of me. Actually, the entire team is gathered around. I think it’s to have a talk before the game but then, as if they’ve choreographed it, as a unit, all twenty-three Bobcats twirl their sticks around like a baton 180 degrees.
At first, I just stare with an eyebrow raised, until I see the four colors of tape on their sticks.
Black, gray, white, purple. My lips part, but before I can process what I’m seeing, my team splits apart and I find the Toronto team arranged in a group behind them.
They stand, assembled in a tight group, their sticks turned on end so the top is resting on the ice. Their tape is pride colored.
I inhale, unable to form words or catch my breath.
When they look up into the stands—both entire teams—I realize that there are very loud cheers around me.
I turn around and a sea of pride flags fills my vision.
Little ones on straws. Enormous ones that take several seats to display.
There are pride shirts and faces painted in pride colors.
I’m not a man who cries easily or often, but tears fill my eyes as I stare at it all. I thought that we’d just ignore it. That the world would just ignore it in person. But to see the support surrounding me is… overwhelming.
Arms wrap around my shoulders from behind, bending me awkwardly against the half wall. I know it’s Lamar based on the bulk of his pads. “We got your back, Coach.”
When he pulls back, I have a tie draped over my shoulders. It’s a very beautiful pin-striped tie. Black-gray-white-purple.