please.” Dallas and I exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed him. He led us farther into the stadium, saying over his shoulder, “There’s a more direct route, but Mr. Kelly told us the young lady is sensitive to fluorescent lights, so we’re going to take a slightly longer walk to avoid them.”
“Oh. Uh,” Dallas said. “Thank you. That’s awesome of him.”
“Yeah, thank you,” I echoed. “We really appreciate the consideration.”
“Absolutely.” Richard glanced back at us, smile still firmly in place. “Mr. Kelly has been very thorough in checking every detail. None of the stadium concessions are open tonight, so there shouldn’t be any issues with smells.”
Dallas and I glanced at each other again, and she looked as surprised as I was.
“How many other people are coming?” I asked.
“Oh, this is a private event,” he said.
“Right, but that’s—”
“Wait,” Dallas said. “You mean, ‘private’ like it’s just me and my dad?”
“That’s exactly right.” He stopped in front of a door, swiped a badge, and then continued through it.
Dallas followed, and at the end of a short tunnel, she gasped. Then I did.
We were on the ground level of the arena.
The empty arena.
Well, empty except for two goals set up on the freshly-surfaced ice. Above that, the clock on the Jumbotron showed 10:00 beneath huge glowing letters that read: Welcome Dallas McKenzie.
Her jaw fell open. “Whoa.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured. What in the world did Kelly have up his sleeve? Because I’d come here expecting a low-key signing with a handful of people. An empty arena with my kid’s name on the Jumbotron? That was unexpected.
Richard turned to Dallas. “How is this lighting for you?”
She looked around, then shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the flashing lights and strobes that bother me when I’m in here. This is good.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
With a smile, Richard started down the steps and beckoned for us to follow. “Perfect. Come with me.”
He led us all the way to the row behind the home team bench. “Have a seat.”
We glanced at each other again, shrugged, and took a couple of seats behind the bench.
Then Richard took a radio out of his pocket. “Tell Mr. Kelly his guests are seated.”
“His guests?” Dallas stared at me. “I thought this was a signing event.”
“So did I.” I turned to Richard. “What am I—”
But the sounds of heavy footsteps below us turned my head, and I looked just as a player in Snow Bears gear emerged from the chute and skated out onto the ice.
Dallas gasped. My teeth snapped together.
That wasn’t just any player in Snow Bears gear. Not with that distinctive sway of his shoulders when he skated or the way he held his stick. Definitely not with the number 22 emblazoned on the back of his jersey beneath KELLY.
“Dad…” Dallas leaned forward. “Oh my God…”
“I know, right?” I whispered, fumbling with my phone.
Kelly skated a small circle, and he seemed to be taking a few deep breaths before he came back toward us, and jersey or not, I’d have recognized that face anywhere. The vaguely wavy dark hair that curled around the edges whenever he was sweaty and disheveled during a game. That asymmetrical smile that short-circuited my brain. Those dark eyes that would probably kill me if I ever saw them up close.
Holy shit.
Yeah. That was Jase Kelly. All not-quite-six-feet of him.
“Dallas?” he called up to her, voice echoing in the otherwise empty stadium.
Eyes wide and jaw slack, my daughter nodded.
He leaned on the boards in front of the team’s empty bench. “I’m gonna get you that autograph I promised, but I thought you might want to watch some hockey first. You good with that?”
She nodded again, still mute.
His expression turned a little serious as he gestured overhead. “And the lights? They’re good?”
“They’re good,” she called back, her voice hollow as if she were dazed. She probably was. God knew I was.
“And the noise?” He cocked his head. “If we’re playing…? Ref whistles? Things like that? It can get kind of loud when we hit pucks and stuff.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”
“All right.” He looked down the chute and tapped his stick against the boards a couple of times.
Instantly, there were more footsteps and noise, and a second later, more hockey players emerged from the chute. Some were in the dominantly white home jerseys, others—including Kelly—wore the mostly blue away jerseys, and two referees followed them.
Those dressed for home went left, those dressed for away went right, and my lips parted when I realized what was happening—the Snow Bears had divided themselves into two teams,