“What are you doing?” I ask as he grabs a glass and sticks it under the Neutral Zone tap.
“Cartwheels. What the hell does it look like I’m doing? Getting us drinks.”
I don’t argue. Instead, I move to the bar, slipping onto a stool as he slides the cider toward me.
He pours himself a pint of Glove Save, then crosses one leg over the other and rests his back against the counter.
Just as I take a sip, the power goes out, and we’re bathed in darkness.
I let out an involuntary squeak, and Noah laughs.
“Give it a sec,” he says. “The generator will kick on.”
As promised, the lights come back on within a few seconds.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and he doesn’t miss it.
“You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, just always feels so weird when the power goes out, you know? Eerily quiet.”
“I know what you mean. I can’t sleep for shit when it happens. Need some sort of sound. I used to bring a mini fan on the road for games. The noise always helped me sleep in those unfamiliar hotel beds.”
“I don’t know how you did that for so long. My bed is my best friend. I could never give it up so willingly.”
“It’s the only thing I hated about being on the road. I loved everything else. Exploring new cities and trying new food and drinks. Finding those little pockets of what made the city the city, ya know?”
He talks about it like he misses it.
“That sounds nice,” I say. “I haven’t been to very many places outside of Washington. Even when we didn’t live in Port Harbor, we were still in the state. Anaheim is really the only place I’ve been for ...” I trail off. He knows why I went to Anaheim.
For him.
“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asks.
“Hockey. Do you miss it?”
He takes a long, slow drink of cider before answering, almost like he needs liquid courage.
Finally, he looks at me, his brown eyes sadder than I’ve ever seen. “Every fucking day.”
It comes out a whisper as if he’s afraid to say it too loudly.
“I’m sorry, Noah.”
I don’t know what else to say besides that. I can’t imagine giving up something I love so much. It’s why I’m working so damn hard to save my business.
He shrugs. “It’s fine. I mean, I had to hang my skates up at some point, yeah?” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but we both know it was.Is.“Besides, I’ve got plans to keep the game in my life.”
Oh? I haven’t heard him talk about that before.
“What kind of plans?” I ask.
“Ezra and I want to help train the next generation. We’ve, uh, we’ve been looking at building a rink. Somewhere safe to skate.Somewhere they can learn without having to drive into the city like I always had to. We both know how expensive hockey is to play, so we want to offer something for kids who are interested in playing but whose families can’t afford it. We potentially found a place, but nothing final yet.”
It’s not what I expected from himorEzra. They’re both so ... closed off. Some might even say cantankerous. I never thought they’d care so much to help the kids like that.
