Derek was making dinner, something with ground beef and too much garlic. Joel had drifted into the kitchen to help. Sarah was in the living room helping Owen with homework while Lily colored at the coffee table. I'd stayed on the couch, my mind still stuck on Ro's face under those lights.
The knock was sharp, three quick raps that expected an answer.
Derek wiped his hands on a towel. "You expecting anyone?"
"No."
He went to the door. I heard it open, heard Derek's confused "Can I help you?" and then a voice that made Joel go completely still beside the stove.
"I'm looking for my son."
I knew that voice. I'd heard it in interviews, in documentaries. Sean Coffey, the man who'd built a world champion out of a child and never let anyone forget it.
Joel's face went blank, not angry or scared, just empty.
Sarah was already moving, gathering the kids with the quiet efficiency of a mother who sensed trouble. "Come on, let's go finish this in your room."
"But Mom—" Owen started.
"Now, please."
She ushered them down the hall.
"Joel," I said quietly. "You don't have to—"
He was already moving. He walked past me toward the front door, his shoulders set in a line I'd never seen before. I followed because I didn't know what else to do.
Sean Coffey stood in Derek's doorway like he owned it. He was shorter than I expected, maybe five foot ten, with silver hair and the kind of tan that came from money. His eyes found Joel immediately, assessing him the way a coach sized up an athlete before a competition.
"There you are," Sean said. "I've been calling."
Sean's gaze slid past Joel and landed on me. I watched him take in the scene: his son standing too close to another man, in a stranger's house, in the middle of nowhere New Mexico. I watched him do the math.
"Who's this?" he asked, though something in his voice said he already knew.
"This is Robert Piper," Joel said. "This is his brother's house."
"Piper." Sean said it like he was tasting something unpleasant. "The hockey player."
"Yeah."
Derek was still standing by the door, looking between us like he was trying to figure out whether he needed to intervene.
"We need to talk," Sean said to Joel. "Privately."
"Whatever you have to say, you can say here."
"Joel." Sean's voice was patient in a way that set my teeth on edge. "I flew here from Los Angeles. The least you can do is give me five minutes."
Joel didn't move. His jaw was working, the tendons in his neck standing out like cables.
"Five minutes," Joel said finally. "Outside."
They walked out into the front yard. Derek closed the door behind them, but the windows were thin. I could hear the low murmur of voices, though not the words.
"That's his dad?" Derek asked.
"Yeah."