“That’s me,” I said with a grin. “Hey, you have a puck?”
The kid nodded so hard the screws in his mask squeaked as he sprinted to the corner and came back with a puck. He clutched it to his chest, thrilled.
I skated to the front desk and found a paint pen in a jar, then signed the rubber and gave it a moment to set before I handed it to the kid who practically bounced on his skates.
The dad had made his way down to the boards, his hands buried in his coat. Fortunately, he kept his mouth shut and let his facial expression say the rest.
“Head up, hands soft,” I said. “If a guy is down, you always let go.”
“Thank you,” the kid said, the words fogging his mask and hanging for a beat.
I nodded to the dad, who tried to meet my eyes but instead continued to stare at his shoes.
After they left, I took one last lap and cut to a full stop at the far circle. The ice had done its job, taken off the edge and left the part I needed.
Outside the glass, night pressed closer, tighter than it had been before I skated. Chicago waited with wet stone and narrow, windy streets. I peeled off my skates and slid on my boots as I walked into the cold. I flexed my hands until the sting finally settled. My truck started on the first turn and warm air crept from the vents.
I steered out of the parking lot and pointed my truck toward the only thing that made sense: Blair.
10
COLT
The old cathedrallooked more like a carcass than a church.
Cold rain hadn’t let up, and the street’s asphalt seemed slick enough to swallow whole headlights.
I sat across the street in my truck, engine dead as I watched Blair haul box after box through the cathedral’s sagging side doors. Water streaked down my windshield in uneven drops that formed streams and made the stone spires of the church blur as if they were shifting in the rain.
The building itself appeared half-ruined. An ancient relic that’d crawled up from the earth.
Looming, once-ornate stained glass wasn’t beautiful anymore. The windows had plywood squares patched over them. Paint curled and rotted at the edges as gothic arches clawed at the sky. Next to the church, a graveyard sprawled indefinitely with bent iron fences and crooked stones.
I couldn’t stop watching him.
Blair, in his thin jacket with his shoulders curled against the rain as he lifted another box from his Prius. Every movement was deliberate and careful. His hair was wet against his forehead by the time he disappeared between the doors.
I told myself I’d only watch to make sure Blair was safe.
That was the line.
That was the lie.
But I didn’t believe it.
My phone lit up again. I looked down to see a missed call from my coach, the second call today. But I couldn’t think clearly enough to form coherent sentences, let alone speak to him.
Everything had changed. The world was foggy and upside down.
A sudden motion shook me from my daydream. Across the street, someone else stood partially hidden under an awning. A dark hoodie, a presence too purposeful.
Even through the blur of rain I recognized him: Travis.
Watching the same way I was.
He’d started to make me furious.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel as leather squeaked beneath my fingers. I wanted to exit my truck and end Travis right here.
