I can breathe here, like I could before my contract was signed and I was pulled away from everything I’d ever known to be plunked down in Boston, Massachusetts. I’m miles away from my Canadian home, wearing a Seaport Snakes hoodie in shades of green I’m still not used to, but here in this quiet place behindthis abandoned building, it doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable to exist. There’s a peace here that I haven’t found anywhere else in this city, not even on the ice where I can usually find my footing, but now someone else is in it and they’ve possibly brought danger.
“Someone’s following you?” I confirm, removing my hand from his slender arm. The thin leather jacket he wears crinkles in the cold as I let him go, and I frown a bit. Despite the hood on his head, he’s definitely not dressed warmly enough for this winter we’re having. Forget having a meltdown, he’s seconds away from bone-deep shivers and blue lips from the frost that clings to every breath we take.
“Yes,” he whispers, voice shaky. “I think so.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. I thought I saw someone behind me, and when I turned down the alley, I could have sworn there were footsteps. I just… knew I was being followed.”
“Did you piss someone off or something? Make an enemy, maybe?” I ask, stepping slightly closer to him as I stand on tiptoes to peer over the fence. It’s quiet out there, as far as I can see. Nobody appears to be around, but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t hiding in one of the dark spaces of the alleyway, waiting for him to come out.
“Enemies? No. Not that I… no. I don’t think so.”
A stranger, then. Clearly someone who scared him more than the idea of following me back to this isolated yard behind an abandoned building. It doesn’t usually happen that I’m the one who is looked at as safety by people I don’t know. At my six-three height, I tower over most people, and compared to this man with the knife, I’m a giant. He’s gotta be at least a foot shorter than me, give or take a few inches.
“You may have scared them off when you pulled that thing outta wherever you had it hidden.” I gesture at the knife in hishand. It’s thick and long, with a wicked-looking serrated edge to it. If he wanted to, he could do some serious damage with that thing. “I’m pretty new here, and back home all the boys have pocket knives they carry in pouches on their belts for cutting rope and shit, but that ain’t no little pocket knife I see in your hand. I’d definitely run away if you came at me with that thing.”
“Would you?” he asks, turning the knife over in his hand, the blade glistening in the moonlight.
“I sure as shit would. What are you doing with such a big knife on you anyway? Out for a leisurely stab and stroll in the dark?” I laugh at my joke, a bit nervously in spite of the fact that I know I could take him if he tried anything. I’m not a violent person by nature, but if provoked, I’ve been known to punch a face or two. Usually on the ice, and in very rare circumstances, given that goalies don’t often have the opportunity to get into scraps during a game.
He laughs softly. “Personal protection. You never know what danger might be lurking in the darkness.”
Yet instead of threatening whoever was following him, he chose to seek me out and ask for my help.
Interesting.
Then again, just because you have a weapon that looks like it could cut a man wide open with a single flick of the wrist, that doesn’t mean it’s an easy choice to actually use it.
“Fair enough,” I comment, glancing up and down the alleyway again, beyond the small fenced yard. When I’m satisfied that we’re at least visibly alone back here, I lower down onto my feet and finally get a decent look at this stranger’s face poking out from beneath the hood he wears. Moonlight spills across his cheekbones as he tilts his head upward, his gray eyes scanning my face carefully like he’s counting every single freckle that sits on my skin. His lips part as his eyes meet mine, a soft breath escaping from within his lungs to linger in the cold airbetween us. He’s smaller than me, as nearly everyone is, but there’s a sharpness to the set of his jaw that speaks more to edges than soft curves.
Fascinating.
“I think whoever was behind you is definitely long gone,” I offer, as he continues looking intensely into my eyes. “Do you live nearby? Can I walk you home so you get there safe and sound?”
“No. I… I don’t really…” He trails off, glancing between my face and the area around us. I grin because I know that look. I’ve probably had that same look on my own face more times than I can count since I landed in Boston.
“Oh dude, understood. No worries. I got lost all the time when I first moved here. Still do sometimes. It’s a lot bigger than Bow Island, Alberta, right?”
He nods in agreement, though I doubt he’s ever been somewhere quite like the tiny town tucked deep into the Canadian prairies I grew up in. Bow Island is a weird little place, full of farmland, cowboys, and hockey players. There’s no actual body of water nearby, and its sole claim to fame is Pinto McBean, a giant statue shaped like an anthropomorphic pinto bean with cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. It doesn’t exactly scream palm trees and coconuts, that’s for sure.
“Are you lost?” I ask, just to confirm what I think I already know.
He leaps at those words like I’ve just given him some sort of lifeline to cling to. “Yes. Definitely lost. That’s probably why I got so spooked.” He bites his lip and looks me up and down. “I’m new here too. You’re from Canada?”
“Sure am. Here to play hockey for the Snakes. Where are you from?”
He hesitates for a moment like he isn’t sure he wants to answer, eyes meeting mine again with that same intense stare.Understandable. I am a stranger to him even if we are both in the same boat of being new to the area. Finally, just when I’d given up on getting an answer, he speaks. “California.”
Sunshine and beaches. No wonder he looks cold if that’s what he’s used to. Shit, his hometown is probably closer to an island than my terribly named one is. “Alright then, California. We should get out of here. Find somewhere with more people, maybe? Or at least some brighter overhead lights. There’s a diner nearby. We can pop in, grab something warm to drink, and find out the route to get to your place from there.” It’s pretty close to what I’d do on any other night without this new company I’ve found. I usually hang out here for a bit, unpacking all my frustrations about the game before heading to Salvatori’s Place a half block over. Though they have a bunch of seemingly healthier foods to snack on, their sugar donuts are killer, and my stomach growls just thinking about them. Yeah, I definitely need to eat, and the diner seems a hell of a lot better right now than this abandoned yard.
“Okay?” he says, but it sounds more like a question than an agreement.
“Danger lurks in the darkness, right?”
“You’re in the darkness,” he points out, and I swear I catch a hint of a smile in his tone.
“Who’s to say I’m not the danger?” I ask, offering a wink. “You could be in serious shit back here with me.”
