“Sounds good, Coach.”
“Drive safe,” I tell him, stepping back from the van. “Text me when you get there.”
The snow is falling harder now, swirling around my head as I watch them pull away. I should be leading the convoy back to campus. But the thought of skating, of clearing my head on the ice where everything makes sense, is too tempting.
Roman's already on the ice when I get to the rink, lazily circling the center logo like he's been doing it his whole life. Which I guess, he has.
“Took you long enough,” he calls out as I lace up my skates. “Thought maybe you got a better offer.”
I snort, pulling my laces tight. “From who? The NCAA compliance officer who cornered me at breakfast?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a certain media rep,” he says with a knowing smirk.
I ignore him, stepping onto the ice and feeling that familiar rush as my blades cut into the surface. This is where I belong. Where everything makes sense. Just me and the ice and the burn in my legs as I push harder, faster.
Roman falls into step beside me, our strides matching like they did twenty years ago when we were linemates.
“You're in your head again,” he says after we've circled the rink a few times. “Spill it.”
“Nothing to spill,” I mutter, cutting hard to the left.
“Bullshit,” he laughs, easily keeping pace.
“Fuck off,” I growl, but there's no heat behind it. Roman's one of the few people I can trust.
We skate for an hour, talking shit and just letting the pressures of our jobs be lifted off our shoulders before Roman tells me he’s got to go.
“You’ve still got it, Beck,” Roman tells me, calling me on the shoulder before getting in his car and driving away.
My muscles ache, but in a pleasant way as I shower and pack up the rest of my things.
Rolling my shoulders, I sling my duffel bag over one arm as I approach the front desk. The lobby is mostly empty now, with just a few stragglers checking out or waiting forrides. I glance at my watch—if I leave now, I can be back at my apartment by dinner, maybe even catch the Bruins game while I review game tape.
“Checking out of room 1408,” I tell the clerk, sliding my key card across the marble counter.
She smiles professionally as she takes it. “Of course, Mr. Kingston. Did you enjoy your stay?”
Before I can answer, the muted television behind her catches my attention. The weather map is lit up like a Christmas tree, red and purple blotches swirling across the screen. The caption at the bottom reads:
WINTER STORM WARNING: BLIZZARD CONDITIONS EXPECTED.
“Shit,” I mutter, nodding toward the screen. “How bad is that going to be?”
The clerk turns to look, her professional smile faltering. “Oh, they've been talking about it all morning. They're saying we could get up to eighteen inches in the next twelve hours, with wind gusts up to fifty miles per hour.” She turns back to me. “The highway department is already advising no travel after one p.m.”
I check my watch again. It's already twelve-thirty. “Are the roads bad now?”
“Not yet, but they're saying it's moving in fast.” She pulls something up on her computer. “The first band of heavy snow should hit in less than an hour.” She looks up at me apologetically. “If you're planning to drive back to campus, you might want to leave now.”
I glance out the glass doors at the swirling snow. It'scoming down heavier now, the flakes no longer melting when they hit the ground. Already, a thin white blanket covers the parking lot.
I pull out my phone to check on the boys. A text from Maris flashes on the screen.
Almost back. Roads getting bad. Passing exit 146 now.
At least they'll make it before the worst hits. I fire back a quick “drive safe” before turning back to the clerk.
“I think I'll need to extend my stay,” I tell her, setting my duffel back down. “At least for tonight, maybe tomorrow depending on how this plays out.”
