Page 2 of Small Town, Big Storm

It doesn’t matter that they were the bright spot.

Eventually, I had to go home.

To him.

To that fucking house.

To the shit that formed memories, that chased?—

No.Thatchaseme.

In my mind, through these fucking streets, on the ice, in the locker room, on plane rides and bus trips and through interviews.

From the Sierra to the Hawks.

From the pine trees to the fucking cedars.

All my life they’ve chased me.

And now it feels like I’ve made a U-turn and driven right back into the storm.

Maybe attending my father’s funeral should be the final piece in putting this all behind me.

But as I pull into the church’s parking lot, it feels like I’m right back at the beginning.

Like there’s a big ass defenseman skating my way, about to blindside me with an open-ice hit.

I need to keep my head up, keep alert.

Stay aware and?—

My phone buzzes, reminding me of the time.

Christ.

It’stime.

I pop open the door, climb out.

It doesn’t matter that this shit has dragged me back to a place I don’t want to be.

It doesn’t matter that my father was a bastard.

It doesn’t even matter that my new team has brought me far too close to home, too close to all that is Cedar Hollow.

And it sure as shit doesn’t matter that it feels like I’m standing on a precipice of my life, about to tumble down into the dark unknown.

The years gone by don’t matter.

Neither does that unknown.

Because I’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Nothing—and no one—could make me stay.

One

Storm