Page 12 of Conrad

“Simon McHale?”

The man turned, and a smile spread over his face. Sandy-brown hair, still lean, although he’d filled out, he wore a pair of dress pants and a hockey jersey. “King Conrad.”

Heat rose at the high-school nickname that had followed him into the league, but Conrad didn’t refute it as he shook Simon’s hand. “McHalestorm.”

Simon laughed, pulled him in, and clamped him on the back. Then he turned to Penelope. “Oh, I see how it is. I should have guessed you might be involved with EmPowerPlay.” He held out his hand. “Miss Pepper.”

She took his hand, glanced at Conrad.

“Simon and I played together in high school,” he said. “He’s a couple years younger than me, but an excellent left winger.”

“I just tried to keep up with His Excellence.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips, and he didn’t make a play at shutting Simon down. Not with that spark in her eye.

“So, you’re coaching the . . .” Conrad glanced at the jersey. “Ice Hawks?”

“Yep. Hey, Jeremy, c’mere. I’d like to introduce you to?—”

“The King.” The voice, just a little gasp behind him, made Conrad turn. A kid, maybe fifteen, tall, skinny, walked up. “Wow.” The kid held out his hand. “My dad is a huge fan.”

“Really.” Conrad shook his hand. Good grip.

“Yeah. Wait until I tell him that I met you!”

“Your dad already knows the King, kid,” said Simon, putting his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. He looked at Conrad. “You remember Joe Johnson. Security Guard at the North Star Arena back when we played? That was before his accident.”

Conrad didn’t move, managed to keep his smile, but everything inside him seized.

Yes.Of coursehe remembered Joe.Oh.

Breathe.

He managed a nod, his body on autopilot, and then, “How is Joe?”

“Aw, Dad’s good. Getting around better since he had his leg amputated. Sometimes helps at the games.”

But Conrad’s brain stopped onamputated.

He might be ill.

Penelope was watching him, a small hitch in her brow.

“You should come to a game,” Simon said. “We play at the new arena—the Arctic Edge—or at least we practice there. We play all over Minnesota. But we have a great team—mostly kids from Chester, although we get a few from Duck Lake. A lot of them are recovering from the trauma of the tornado a few years ago, of course. But others just need a way to burn off energy. And then there are kids like Jeremy here, who’s a natural. They just need a little support getting onto a team.”

A.k.a. funding. Because Jeremy’s dad probably lived off disability.

His knees might buckle. “I’d love to come to a game,” he said, his smile still fixed. “Good to meet you, Jeremy.”

Conrad pointed at Simon and then met him in a hand grab. He hoped his palm didn’t feel as sweaty as his body.

Then he practically fled the room, walking with his hands in his pockets.Don’t run.But he desperately needed air.

Penelope instead led him back to the ballroom. Ed Sheeran’s “Photograph” played and a few people danced. Penelope looped her arm through his. “Dance?”

No.“Sure.”

Just breathe.

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