I followed him out of the locker room, through the corridor, and past the equipment room where we'd found the skates. When we pushed through the double doors into the parking lot, the bitter cold hit like a frozen force field.
Above us, barely visible through the cloud cover, the Northern Lights shimmered. Green and pale blue, dancing across the sky in ribbons like someone who'd never heard the word subtle painted them.
Hog stopped walking. "Holy shit," he breathed.
We stood there in the parking lot watching the sky put on a show. Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to.
"You ready for tomorrow?" I asked quietly.
"No." Then: "Yeah. Maybe. Ask me again in twelve hours."
I smiled. "Fair enough."
"You gonna be there? In the stands?"
"Front row. Jake has named me honorary bruiser."
We watched the lights for another minute before the cold became too much. Hog turned toward his Prius—still the most ridiculous vehicle for someone his size—and I headed for my truck.
Before I got there, he called my name.
"See you tomorrow, flannel guy."
"See you tomorrow, enforcer."
I watched him fold himself into his car, reverse lights flashing as he pulled out of the lot. His taillights disappeared around the corner, heading toward his apartment, Common Thread, or wherever his restless energy took him at nine PM the night before a playoff game.
I climbed into my truck and sat there momentarily, engine idling, heater struggling to catch up. The Northern Lights were already fading, clouds rolling back in to cover them, but I'd seen them, and we'd watched them together.
My phone buzzed at a red light.
Hog:Still thinking about you against that wall
Rhett:Drive safe. Don't crash because you're texting your boyfriend.
Hog:BOYFRIEND. You said it in writing. That's legally binding now.
Rhett:Go to sleep. Big day tomorrow
Hog:Yes, Dad. Love you
Rhett:Love you too
The light turned green.
I drove the rest of the way home with a stupid grin and the certainty that tomorrow—win or lose—we'd built something that would last.
Chapter twenty-three
Hog
The national anthem singer hit the final note, and an arena full of voices roared back to life.
I stood at the blue line, helmet under my arm, watching the Canadian flag hang still against the rafters. My heart pounded. Anticipation blended with the calm of knowing I'd already made every choice that mattered.
The singer skated off as the ref moved to center ice with the puck.
This was it.
