“I got thrown into the boards once.” He points to his left shoulder. “But I’m fine.”
Ispeak more to him about his injuries, then I start the massage.
The main thing is that Florian is enjoying his life in Nashville. And I can get in touch with him. It’s not like we’re enemies or anything.
It’s just… well, I miss him.
A lot.
I blink rapidly.
“Mateo?” Troy asks.
I’ve stopped massaging him.
“Sorry,” I say hastily. “Sorry.”
And then I continuethe massage.
Florian
I hurry through Logan Airport then rush to the taxi stand. I fling myself inside a taxi. “Get me to the Blizzards Arena, fast.”
The taxi driver chuckles. “Big hockey fan?” He turns around, and his eyes round. “Florian Richter!”
“You recognize me?”
“Of course. How’s Nashville?”
“Okay. And maybe it will be even better soon.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes. I have a plan.”
The taxi driver chuckles, then he quickens the speed. We fly in the left lane toward Boston’s large skyscrapers, then turn off at the exit to the Blizzards’ Arena.
I dash toward the entrance and its large double doors.
I am almost there.
I will almost see Mateo.
The security guard narrows his eyes. “Florian?”
“Hello. Can you let me in?”
“You don’t work here anymore,” the security guard says apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Oh. I—uh.”
I’m not supposed to be here. Obviously.
I don’t work here. But somehow, I didn’t anticipate that I wouldn’t be able to get through security. I didn’t think I would be stopped.
Clearly, I haven’t done much thinking.
“Do you want me to call someone?” The guard looks at me uncertainly, like he thinks I’m going to demand my job back or something.
