Page 75 of Home Ice Advantage

Slowly, the lights in the rest of the arena were flickering off with the loud pops that always surprised Eric, even when he was expecting them. “I promise, Ryan.”

“Okay,” he said, again. “So we’re not going to see each other tonight?”

“No,” Eric said, regretfully. Tonight was the kind of night it would’ve been nice to get railed until he forgot his own name, but he was going to do the responsible thing and update his résumé and prepare for the interview. Ryan laughed, suddenly, and Eric said, “What?”

“It’s been kind of a while since we haven’t.”

With a little shock down his spine, Eric realized how right he was. Ruefully, a little dangerously, he leaned forward and kissed Ryan quickly on the mouth, a press only, just to see his eyes fly wide open in shock. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you on Saturday, mon pitchounet.”

“You called me that once before—what does it even mean?”

“It’s stupid,” Eric said, more than a little embarrassed. “A nonsense endearment. My little pitcher.”

“Little p—”

“Mon chum, we don’t have the time to start this right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan muttered, and shrugged. “All right. You go. I’m still thinking.”

It wasn’t easy to leave him, standing there in the empty, dark rink, but Eric did it.

It probably wasn’t the most efficient way to get down to Long Island. Eric could have flown and then taken a cab, but the hassle of getting in and out of the airports didn’t seem worth it, especially because he despised both LaGuardia and JFK. He could have driven, but then he would have lost the opportunity to prepare for the interview in silence in transit, because he would have had to deal with New York drivers. Really the only option was to take the train into Penn Station, and from there, to catch a cab to Floral Park, where the Railers’ business offices were located. The trip would be slightly over five hours, and he had to leave at the ass-crack of dawn to make it on time.

Eric bought his train tickets, looked over his résumé one last time, ate three melatonin gummies and did his best not to look at his phone as he tried desperately to pass out. He woke up in the morning and resigned himself to Dunkin’ Donuts coffee from South Station. As he was buying it, he thought about how Ryan would have loved rubbing it in and felt a momentary twinge of guilt that he had to push down.

His mother called while he was boarding the train, and immediately figured out that something was up.

“It’s nothing, Maman,” Eric told her, relieved that probably no one around him was Francophone.

“Why do you sound like you’re in a train station?”

“I see your hearing aids are calibrated properly,” Eric said, a little sour. “I’ve been offered an interview for a head coaching position.”

“Oh,tateleh!” Maman exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! You’ve worked so hard for—wait. You sound unsure.”

“I’m not a hundred percent positive thatthisteam is going to be the right fit for me, but even beyond that... I’m not really sure, you know. What to do about Ryan.”

“You haven’t talked to him about it?Éric!”

“I know, Maman, I know, I just... I don’t even know if it’s going to pan out. I didn’t want to upset him. I’ll deal with it once I know for sure, one way or another. It’s just hard. I’ve been working for this for so long, but Ryan is—I kind of fell in love with him, Maman.”

She sighed. “Nothing is ever easy for you, is it?”

Eric laughed. “I’m too much of an asshole for things to come easy, you know that.”

“Éric,” she scolded, “no you aren’t. You’re a good man, and Ryan knows it. You should really just talk to himhonestly.”

“I’m going to. After the interview.”

“I hope it’s not too late,” his mother said severely, and then sighed. “You will do well in this interview, keynahora.”

“We’ll see. Look, ’Man, I have to go,” Eric said, and immediately headed toward the back of the train, where he knew he could probably find a window seat.

Eric had always liked train stations, from the old-school ticker board in Philadelphia to the soaring glass ceilings in Penn Station. There was something about the echo and the noise, the ebb and flow of commuters in and out, that felt strangely soothing. It was easy to disappear into the crowd, one of a million other people going about their business.

He didn’t have time to appreciate it today; as soon as he disembarked, his briefcase slung over his shoulder, he had to head out to catch a cab. No use taking chances with New York traffic. Strangely enough, now that he was here, he felt the calm certainty he always felt knowing that soon he would be out on the ice, that the fight he was dreading would be finished soon.

The Railers’ front office was an unassuming, modern building with copper siding, tucked into a residential neighborhood of Long Island. He stood outside, looking up, and thought about how shitty it had felt when Joe Conroy had told him they were going in a different direction. He felt the vague twist of nausea in his stomach and stamped it out viciously.

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