He inched his way down Hanley Street, a narrow, winding road where houses were close together and kids still played in the road. Gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled into the back parking lot of Crawford Park.
Grabbing his bag from the trunk, he slung it over his shoulder and crossed the wooden footbridge to the ice rink. Inside, he headed down the short hallway, stopping at the manager’s office on the left. The door was open so he rapped twice on the jamb.
Walt Benninger, leaning back in his chair, the phone to his ear, his considerable stomach hanging over his belt, grinned and held up a finger. Neil nodded and set down his bag while Walt finished his call.
“Neil Pettit,” he said as he got to his feet—no small task given the fifty pounds he’d put on since Neil had last seen him. He came around the desk, offering his hand. “Good to see you.”
“You, too.”
Walt had aged. His hair—what was left of it—was gray, his face more lined and, if Neil wasn’t mistaken, the man had shrunk by a good two inches.
Guess some things had changed.
Walt grabbed a set of keys from his desk. “Let’s get you set up,” he said, motioning for Neil to precede him back into the hallway.
At the end of the hall, Walt unlocked the door to the storage locker. “I already opened up the locker room for you,” he said as he flipped on the light. “Pucks are here—” he kicked a large plastic tub “—nets are already on the ice. When you’re done, put everything back and lock up. If I’m not here, you can leave the key on my desk.”
Neil took the key chain. “No problem. Thanks for opening the ice for me.”
Walt grinned. “Hey, it’s not every day we get a Stanley Cup champion skating in our rink. Congratulations. You did us all proud.”
With a two-fingered salute, Walt was gone. Neil wrapped his fingers around the metal ring, the edge of a key digging into his palm. He hadn’t set out to make anyone proud, just to make something of himself. He’d had something to prove.
There were days he wondered if he was still trying to prove it.
In the locker room, Neil changed into a pair of warm-ups and laced up his skates. He walked out to the rink, breathed in the scent of the ice, welcomed the cold slap of air against his cheeks. After setting the bucket of pucks aside and leaning his stick against the boards, he started skating, the swoosh of his blades the only sound.
He did laps to warm up, increasing his speed each go-round. But it wasn’t enough. He could still see Fay, so pale the dark circles under her eyes stood out like bruises. So fragile and drawn and so much like Annie, it was as though he was reliving his worst nightmare.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself even more. His breathing grew labored, his thigh muscles burned. Sweat dripped down his face and stung his eyes. He kept going. Faster. Harder.
Fay wasn’t Annie. More importantly, Neil wasn’t a helpless kid. Not anymore. He had everything he needed to help his sister. Money. Connections. He’d do whatever it took to make sure she was okay.
I just don’t think enabling Fay to wallow is in her best interest.
He took the corner fast, crossing his right skate over his left. The tips of his fingers skimmed the ice. Continued that pace until he’d successfully shoved Maddie’s voice, opinions and the way she’d brushed aside his concerns about their daughter out of his head.
But his hands still tingled from touching her. Every inhalation brought her scent—something darker and sexier than when they’d been a couple. He’d found that fact both disappointing and way more appealing than it should have been.
Found himself wondering what else had changed about her. What had stayed the same. If she still sang along to all the songs on the radio and fought with her brothers over everything, anything and, at times, nothing at all. If she still played with her hair when it was down, twirling the long strands around her finger or flipping it off her face. If she still kissed with that mix of single-minded focus, heat and heart that had made him feel like king of the freaking world even while it scared the shit out of him.