Page 50 of Hat Trick

“Happy to do it. You want a ride to the arena?” he asks. “You’re going to be late if you wait for an Uber.”

“That would be great. I don’t need Coach chewing me out. I’m sure he’s going to yell at me for something else.”

Marcus and I take the elevator downstairs, and I climb into his Range Rover. He turns down the radio and pulls out of the parking garage, heading for the arena.

“I want to apologize for being distant the past four months,” I say. “It’s taken me a long time to process what happened to me. It’s selfish and shitty, and I didn’t mean for you to get stuck in the crosshairs of the aftermath—especially because of how much you do for me professionally and personally. I haven’t been appreciative.”

“I get it, Riley. I haven’t taken anything to heart, and I know you’ve been quiet for a reason.” He glances over at me. “How are you doing?”

I stretch out my right leg, adjusting my prosthetic. “Fine.”

“Let’s try this again. How are youreallydoing? And don’t give me that bullshit answer you think I want to hear.”

“Today? I’m fine. Yesterday? I ate a pint of ice cream and didn’t leave the couch.”

“Not every day can be sunshine and rainbows. A lot of days suck, but you got out of bed today. That’s a win,” he says.

“Time to throw a fucking party.”

“You’re doing your rehab? And going to your therapy appointments?”

“Um.” I stare out the window and shrug. “Occasionally.”

“You’ll work on bumping that up to frequently?” Marcus asks.

“I’ll do my best.”

We spend the rest of the drive talking about the first month of the season. I share my thoughts on the teams that are surprising me and the ones who have been underwhelming. Marcus doesn’t mention the Stars and the rough start they’ve had so far in October, and I’m glad.

“We’re here.” Marcus pulls up in front of the players’ security entrance at the arena and unlocks the doors. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

“Thanks.” I laugh and lean over and shake his hand. “And thanks for having my back.”

“Always. Tell Brody he’s an asshole.”

“With pleasure.”

I climb out of the car and give Marcus a salute as he drives away. The guys had morning skate earlier today, and with no game this evening, the hallways are empty. I make a detour on my way to Coach’s office, stopping at the edge of the tunnel leading out to the rink and taking a deep breath.

I stare at the surface, hating how beautiful it looks. My favorite time to skate is when the barn’s just been cleaned. The ice is smooth. Glassy. There’s not a single shaving to be found, and what I would fucking give to lace up and get out there.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Coach says from behind me. I hear his heavy footsteps, and when I turn to my right, he’s following my gaze. “Want to know a secret?”

“You’re part robot?”

“Close. Sometimes after a game, I wait until everyone leaves. Then I’ll climb up into the stands and look at the ice for an hour.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Why not?” He points to the path leading to the penalty box and walks that way. “It calms me in a way nothing else does. I don’t even need to be out there and it offers me comfort years of therapy can’t bring me.”

That’s how I’ve felt lately, and it’s why I follow him without asking another question.

The plexiglass usually up during games is down, giving us an unobstructed view. I sit next to Coach on the bench and lean forward, inhaling deeply.

“Is it crazy to say it smells like home?” I ask. “If home had a smell.”

“No.” Coach snorts. “That’s what I think too.”

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