Page 84 of Hard Check
The sign was face-down on his thighs.ONE LAST SHOT. DON’T BLOCK ME?
Ethan had shown up twenty minutes after the phone call. No questions, engine running in the driveway, and he’d driven ten miles toward The Forum before curiosity got the better of him.
“A sign,” Ethan said. “That’s one way to get his attention.”
Dawson stared out the window.
“You’re going to a hockey game with a poster board sign. Like a kid at a baseball game.”
“You can drop me off and leave.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving.” Ethan shifted his grip on the wheel. “I’m just trying to understand the plan. You’re going to stand at the glass and hold up a sign during warm-ups, and what? Hope he sees it?”
“He’ll see it.”
“And then what? He’s about to play a game, Dawson. He can’t exactly stop warm-ups and come talk to you.”
Dawson didn’t answer. He hadn’t thought past making a sign. Hadn’t been able to. Every time he tried to think about what came after, his brain shorted out, and he transported back to the night of his greatest regret.
Ethan was quiet for a stretch. Fields in the dark. A semi passed going the other direction, its headlights sweeping through the cab.
“What if he doesn’t—” Ethan stopped, and then started again, more careful. “What if it’s too late? What if he’s moved on and you’re standing there with a sign?”
Dawson’s throat tightened. He’d thought about that. At three in the morning, staring at the ceiling, he’d thought about nothing else.
“Then I’m standing there with a sign,” Dawson said. “But at least I’ll know I tried.”
Ethan looked at him. Looked back at the road. His grip tightened on the wheel, running numbers on a job and not liking what they added up to.
“You eat today?” he asked.
“No.”
“There’s a granola bar in the glovebox.”
Dawson opened the glovebox and found the bar under a tire pressure gauge and a handful of receipts. He unwrapped it and took a bite.
The Forum’s lights hit the windshield before Dawson was ready. Ethan pulled into the lot and killed the engine, and Dawson watched families stream toward the entrance in blue and silver, kids running ahead, the Stags logo projected on the concrete face of the building. This was their world. Leo’s world.
Dawson had been to a game once before. He’d felt like a fish out of water that night, but that was nothing compared to putting it all on the line.
“You sitting right up front?” Ethan asked.
“If I can.”
“You do know how hard those tickets are to get, right? People buy those weeks out.”
Dawson hadn’t thought about that. “Then close as I can get.”
Ethan looked at him for a long beat. Then he opened his door, shaking his head.
Dawson looked at him. “You don’t have to?—”
“I’m not sitting in a parking lot for three hours.” Ethan pulled his cap lower and got out. “If things go to shit, you’re going to need a ride home. And if they don’t… well someone’s gotta be Mom’s favorite when the story comes out. She’s going to want the details.”
They walked toward the entrance together, the cold biting through the hoodie, the sign tucked under Dawson’s arm with the words against his ribs. Families streamed past them. A group of guys in Stags jerseys cut between them, and Ethan let them pass without breaking stride.
At the ticket window, Ethan pulled out his wallet before Dawson could argue.
