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“Nah,” Jack scoffs. “I always knew you’d be back. Boston is in your blood, man.”
He’s not wrong there.
“Well, I’m happy that someone’s glad to have me back.”
“Fuck off,” Jack snorts. “We’re all stoked. Coach especially. Fuck what Twitter says. That place isn’t real, anyway. You can’t put stock in something owned by Elon Musk.”
“I think Tesla investors would argue with you.”
“Shut up.”
“Also, I think they renamed it.”
“Yeah, but it’s stupid. I don’t know what that guy’s obsession with naming things with just letters is.”
He throws his good arm around my shoulders, an easy feat since we’re both relatively the same size at six foot four. He flashes me a wide grin, one that hasn’t changed in all the years since I’ve known him; Jack has always been the more approachable of the two of us—his shaggy, chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, and easy smile have always been a helluva lot more inviting than my perma-scowl that’s constantly hidden under the red scruff I can’t ever bother to shave completely off. Jack used to joke that I was entirely too gruff for a ginger. That we’re supposed to be “sunshine-ier,” and now that I’ve grown my hair out so long, he says I give off “Viking vibes.” Whatever the hell that means.
“So…meeting with Coach and Leilani, huh?”
“Leilani is the new PR agent?”
“Mhm. She’s cool. Tiny thing, but she’ll stick those pointy fucking heels up your ass if you mention it.”
“Good to know.”
My worry must show on my face, because Jack nudges me with his good shoulder.
“Dude, it’s going to be fine. They already signed you back, yeah? Everything else is just gravy.”
“Right,” I answer, nodding to myself as if this can wash away my nerves. “You’re right.”
“We’ll get through this first week, and then maybe we can grab dinner with Dee this weekend, huh? She’ll be excited to see you again.”
That gives me pause. “Lila?”
“Yeah. You’ve caught her show, right?”
I shake my head. “We don’t get the channel in Calgary. Not really big on TV, anyway.”
“Dude. You have the internet though. It’s a big deal! I can’t believe you haven’t given it a watch. I mean, I don’t watch it religiously, but I still DVR the episodes.”
“I know,” I say with a frown. “I need to remedy that now that I’m back.”
“Well, we can all catch up, regardless. She’s going to kick your ass when she finds out you haven’t seen her show.”
I grin at that, trying to imagine the tiny scrap of a girl I remember with her freckles and her constant coating of flour kicking my ass. “It’s been too long since I saw the kid. It’ll definitely be good to hang out.”
“Don’t let her catch you calling her ‘kid,’ ” he says.
I can’t help but flash another smile. “Yeah. I better head back to Coach’s office. I’ll see you on the ice, yeah?”
“From the sidelines,” he grumbles.
“Ian!”
I freeze at the sound of my mother’s voice; I’d known she’d be here but still wasn’t prepared to see her. Not quite. I turn to catch sight of her coming down the hall, her expression bright and her more-silver-than-blond hair tied back in a twist. I try to focus on her, try to keep my smile pasted on my face for her benefit, but I can already see the larger figure looming just behind her, the presence of my father like storm clouds rolling in, impossible to ignore.
My mother’s tiny frame collides with mine, her thin arms wrapping around my middle and squeezing tight. I smile into her hair, which boasts the familiar scent of roses courtesy of her favorite shampoo, reveling in the comfort it brings. Even if only for a moment.
