"Will do."
The parking garage was colder than the hallway. Concrete and shadows and the smell of motor oil mixed with tire rubber. My car was where I'd left it: third level, far corner, away from where anyone else parked.
Chicago at night was quieter than during the day, but never silent. Traffic lights cycling. Trains running. Music leaking out of open windows.
I'd bought a River North condo. Twelfth floor. View of the river. Twenty-three minutes door to door from the arena, traffic depending.
My building rose ahead, glass and steel, expensive and anonymous.
I pulled into the underground garage. Second level. Reserved spot.
I checked my phone before getting out.
Three more notifications since I'd left the arena. A text message.
Dad:Good luck tomorrow. Make it count.
He couldn't sleep either.
I pictured him at the kitchen table, reading glasses on. He'd have checked the preseason stats. Probably twice.
Make it count.
I grabbed my bag from the back seat. Got out and locked the car.
The elevator to my floor was empty. My condo was dark.
Before turning on any lights, I crossed to the windows looking out over the city. I'd chosen the condo because it could be anonymous while being close enough to the arena. Never looked at the view until after moving in.
The kitchen counter was clean except for a single coffee mug from this morning.
I opened the fridge.
Bottled water. Greek yogurt. Pre-made protein shakes. Nothing that required actual cooking.
My living room looked like a museum exhibit:Habitat of the Professional Athlete Who Doesn't Actually Live Here. It came with furniture the real estate agent called "modern" and "sophisticated."
I'd lived here for two years and never moved a single piece.
On the bookshelf, one frame didn’t match the rest. Me in a borrowed parka, grinning like an idiot beside Ansel, a beluga whale at Shedd. Taken over the summer. The glass fogged from his breath.
The coffee table was stacked with marine biology journals. The top one had a Post-it bookmark halfway through an article on ocean acidification. Next to it, grad school brochures with deadlines underlined in black.
Tomorrow was opening night.
Heath Donnelly would take the ice for the first time as a full roster player, fighting for a spot he'd already earned.
I would skate one shift ahead of him.
My phone buzzed.
Heath:You up?
I nearly dropped the phone.
Kieran:Yeah.
Another message came through almost instantly.
