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"Thanks. How's the organization?"

"Busy. Season just started. The Bruins are looking sharp this year." He shifted his laptop bag to the other shoulder. "Listen, the guys still get together every year. Same group, same restaurant, usually around the holidays. You know that, because I send you the invite every time."

I knew. I deleted it every time.

"This year we're doing a Bruins game instead. I got a block of tickets through work. VIP section, the whole thing." He looked at me. "Come this year, Alex. The guys miss you. You walked away and nobody ever really understood why."

"I appreciate that."

He clapped my shoulder and headed inside. I sat in my truck and didn't start the engine for fifteen minutes.

CHAPTER 7

Hazel’s Lab

JANINE

"Knees bent! Cross over, push, cross over!"

Coach Hale's whistle cut through the rink as the girls rotated to the next station. Hazel was already lined up at the far boards, waiting for her turn at the crossover drill. I sat in the bleachers with my coffee, watching through the glass.

She'd been working on backward crossovers for weeks. The drill had them skating backward along the blue line, crossing one foot over the other to build speed on the curve. The girls ahead of Hazel in line were starting to find it, their feet crossing smoothly, their weight shifting at the right moment. Hazel was close. She could see what it was supposed to look like. But every time she tried it at speed, she lost the edge and had to reset.

I pulled out my phone and checked it without thinking. His name was still at the top of my messages. The last thing I'd sent him, two nights ago: Good night, Captain Holloway.

It had been a week since the play and the kiss still wouldn't leave me alone. I'd be making coffee and I'd think about the weight of his hand on my arm. At work, his voice would come through the radio and I'd lose my train of thought for half a second. At night, I'd replay it and fall asleep still running the moment back.

On the ice, Hazel's turn came. She started backward, her left foot crossed over, her weight shifted, and she caught her edge and had to pull up. She shook it off and skated to the back of the line.

She'd get there. She always did. But watching your child struggle with something they want this badly was its own particular ache, where all you could do was sit in the bleachers and believe in them louder than they believed in themselves.

After practice, Hazel skated to the boards. I crouched down to meet her through the gap.

"You're getting closer, bug."

"I'm not fast enough."

"You're faster than you were last week."

She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked back at the ice.

On our way out, Coach Hale walked over.

"Ms. Curtis, hey." He smiled at me like we were the only two people in the rink, which he did more often than coaching Hazel's skating required. "Hazel's looking really solid out there. She's got a great work ethic."

"Thanks. She's putting the time in."

I put my hand on Hazel's shoulder. I already knew where this was going.

"Listen, if you ever want to grab a coffee and talk about her development plan, I'd love to walk you through what I'm seeing."

It was the third time he'd found a reason to suggest coffee.

He made it sound professional but I knew it wasn't. The coffee was not about Hazel's development plan, and that smile was not about coaching. I met his eyes and kept my voice even.

"I appreciate it. I think we're good with practice and the tournament prep. If I have questions, I'll reach out."

He nodded, still smiling, and stepped back. Professional enough that anyone watching wouldn't have noticed anything. I'd noticed.