I stared out the window. Thunder Bay in January—the kind of cold that made you wonder why anyone stayed. Thirty-two years and I still didn't have a good answer.
I'd been at the rink until noon with Mika's group, running them through crossover drills until their skates carved cleanlines in the ice. Half of them couldn't stay in their lane, kept drifting toward the center like they were magnetized. Same problem Hog probably saw with his rookies—everyone wanted to chase the puck instead of trusting their position.
Trust your position. Stay in your lane until the play comes to you.
Good advice for ten-year-olds. Terrible advice for your personal life.
"Rhett Mason."
Margaret from Skeins & Stitches appeared at my elbow, knitting bag heavy on her shoulder. "Waiting for someone? Or just enjoying the scenery?"
"Coffee."
"Mmhmm." Her eyes flicked to the second empty mug and the refolded napkin. "Enjoy your coffee."
Her knitting circle claimed their usual table near the back—four women who could diagnose your entire life while discussing yarn weights. Margaret caught my eye once more—a slight nod. No judgment.
Small towns. You either made peace with it or you left.
My phone buzzed.
Sloane:Breathe
Sloane:You CHOSE this, remember?
Chose. Right. I'd walked across that bar two nights ago. I'd kissed him in front of half the town while confetti fell and his teammates lost their minds.
I could do this.
The door opened again—blue hair and combat boots—shit.
"Rhett Mason." Juno Park pulled out the chair across from me without asking. Her girlfriend grabbed another chair, both of them settling in like I invited them. "Big day."
"Just coffee."
"In the window." She tilted her head. "You're usually a back corner guy."
"Maybe I'm tired of corners."
"Good." Her smile was sharp. "Because Hog's not a corner guy. Dating him means everyone's watching. Everyone's got opinions."
"Photo's already in theChronicle."
"So you might as well commit." She leaned forward. "I'm just saying—he's been through guys who wanted the highlight reel. The fights and the laughs, skip the complicated parts. You ready for complicated?"
I thought about his hands tangling in my shirt. How he'd gone still under my hands like he was afraid of taking up too much space.
"Yeah. I am."
She studied me for another beat. "Okay. Don't fuck it up." She stood, retreating with her girlfriend to a table near Margaret's circle.
Close enough to watch. Far enough to pretend indifference.
The door opened.
He filled the frame—literally, shoulders nearly brushing both sides. Dark blue henley clinging to his chest and arms, beard damp from a shower that hadn't quite erased the rink smell. Cold air and rubber and ice still clung to him underneath whatever soap he'd used.
His eyes found mine, and he smiled—barely.
