Page 29 of Mine For The Winter

Everley glanced at Cole and then back at Kris. “Sure. What do you need?”

A chaperone because I’m here with the kid of the woman I hurt who won’t take no for an answer.

“I want to find my old tool box. Alaska said it’s in the attic.”

Everley’s face lit up. “I know exactly where it is. Candy stored all your stuff together up there.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you left, she got all your things and put them together. Said you might want them one day when you’re older.”

Kris’s throat tightened. He’d left town with little more than two suitcases and the biggest chip on his shoulder, assuming all his things would be thrown away by his parents.

“All my things?” he repeated. Was she serious?

“A lot of them.” Everley nodded. “Wanna come see?”

He wasn’t sure whether he did or not. He’d left them behind the way he’d left everything else. And now it felt like he was stirring up the hornet’s nest of his past.

She hit the entry code on the pad beside the attic door, and the three of them walked up the gloomy stairs. Dust motes danced in the air, making Cole sneeze twice.

“I’ve never been in an attic before,” he said.

“Well you’re gonna love this one,” Everley told him. “It’s like a treasure trove. My grandmother never threw anything away.”

When they reached the top she hit the switch and light flooded the room. There were boxes and trunks everywhere, along with old chairs and tables and dressers that once graced the rooms of the Inn.

“Your pile is here,” Everley said, when they reached a stack of boxes. “I think your tools are at the bottom.”

“Of course,” Kris said dryly. He lifted the first box off of the stack and to add to the joy of it all, the bottom fell out, picture frames and clothes falling to the ground in a loud cacophony.

“Is that your hockey shirt?” Cole asked, leaning down to pull a red jersey from the pile. “Cool.”

“Careful,” Kris said gruffly. “Let me check if there’s any broken glass.”

But Cole was too busy looking at the shirt. It was one of Kris’ old high school ones. He’d played varsity during his senior year. Cole lifted it and turned it around, to see Winter and the number eight on the back.

“That’s Ovechkin’s number,” Cole said, with what sounded stupidly like awe.

“Yeah. I kind of liked him as a kid.”

“You should give it to him,” Everley whispered.

“What?” Kris frowned. He’d forgotten she was there.

“Give the kid the jersey.” She nodded her head at Cole who was still staring at the old top like it was the damn holy grail.

“Did your dad ever give you his jersey?” Kris asked Cole, remembering how Lyle was kicked off the team during senior year. Had he even kept it?

Cole shook his head. “He didn’t give me anything.”

And fuck if that didn’t make Kris want to sob. “It’s yours.”

Cole’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. If you want it you can keep it. I’d forgotten I’d even left it.”

Cole held the top against his body. It swamped him, looking more like a dress than a jersey. But Kris had been fifteen when he’d first worn it and Cole was a good few years short of that.

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