“Who the hell are you?” I blurted out. At that, he laughed, but it was without humor. “I’m Brick, remember? The sullen ex–star athlete, washed up and hiding away in the big house.” “Fine. Be a dick.” I turned to go, when he spoke again, sharp and broken, like shards of glass. “You were so close to the truth, Em.” Eyes of frosted sea glass met mine. “The world knows me as Luc Osmond. Oz, the great and powerful. One of the best hockey centers to dominate the ice, or so I was told.”
