"You're welcome back whenever you want," I said. Then, because Jeremy was still staring and Hog looked like he needed to hear it: "I want you back."
Hog blinked hard. "For real?"
"For real."
Jeremy smiled. "Cool. Can you teach me to knit next time?"
By seven-fifteen, we were alone.
The rink always felt bigger when it was quiet. We gathered equipment, skates scraping ice, and I was aware of every sound—Hog's breath, his jacket rustling, and the hum of the flickering lights.
He skated over to dump gathered pucks into the bin. "Did I pass?"
"Pass what?"
"The test. You invited me to your thing. I figured you were checking to see if I'd embarrass you."
"You think I'd do that?"
"I don't know. You wouldn't be the first."
I skated closer. "You didn't embarrass me."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "They're good kids."
"They loved you."
"They loved the hot chocolate."
"Hog."
He finally looked at me. "I just didn't want to screw it up. This is your world, and I didn't want to be the guy who bulldozed in and made it weird."
"You didn't. You fit."
"Okay."
I stood close. "Do you want to see something?"
He blinked. "What?"
"There's a place. I want to show you."
His eyes searched mine. "A place?"
"Kind of special."
"Lead the way."
I'd parked my truck in the far corner of the lot—'96 Silverado with rust eating through the wheel wells and a tailgate that only opened if you kicked it first.
Hog stopped when he saw it. "Nice truck."
"Does the job."
"It's—" He circled it. "It's very you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
