Page 19 of The Man in the Cottage

Yesterday, when she touched my arm and asked me to stay for coffee, I felt something I haven't felt in a long time. Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of it. The possibility that maybe I'm not just the worst thing I've ever done.

That's dangerous. I know it's dangerous.

But knowing doesn't make me stop.

The next morning I'm at the rink by six, skating harder than I have in weeks. Sprints, stops, crossovers, the same drills I've been doing since I was a kid. My legs burn and my lungs ache and for a little while my brain goes quiet, nothing but the sound of my blades on the ice and the rhythm of my own breath.

Frank watches me from the boards for a while, then shakes his head and walks away without saying anything. He knows something's going on with me. He's too smart not to. But he's also been around hockey long enough to know that some things you don't ask about.

Afterward, I sit in the locker room for a long time, just staring at my gear. The bag with my team logo on it, the logo I might never wear again. The skates that have carried me through hundreds of games. The gloves that have thrown more punches than I want to count.

This is who I am. This is all I've ever been. I don't know how to be anything else.

But maybe that's the problem.

I shower and change and walk out to my truck, the cold air sharp in my lungs. My phone is sitting on the passenger seat where I left it. Three missed calls from Dave. A text from my mother that I don't open. And a message from Kelly.

Good morning. Coffee's on if you want some.

I read it twice. She just woke up and thought of me. That means something. I don't know what, but it means something.

I stare at it for a long time, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I should tell her no. I should keep my distance, stop letting her in, protect both of us from what's coming. The smart thing, the safe thing, would be to stay away until I figure out my life.

I type back: Be there in twenty.

Then I start the truck and drive back to her.

Chapter Seven

Kelly

"You're having a what?"

Nicole's voice comes through the phone loud enough that I have to pull it away from my ear. I'm sitting on the porch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, watching the sun go down behind the trees. It's cold but I don't care. I've been inside all day and I needed air.

"A Galentine's Day party," I say. "You know, like the show. Leslie Knope. Waffles and friendship."

"I know what Galentine's Day is. I'm just surprised you're hosting one. You hate hosting things."

"I don't hate hosting things."

"Kelly. You once hid in your bathroom for twenty minutes during your own birthday party."

"That was different. There were too many people and someone brought a plus-one I didn't know." I pull the blanket tighter. "This is small. Just you, Mona, and Brit. Four people total. I can handle four people."

"In your dead grandmother's house in the middle of nowhere Virginia."

"It's not the middle of nowhere. There's a grocery store."

"One grocery store?"

"There's also a hardware store. And a gas station that sells really good fried chicken."

"Oh well, a gas station with good fried chicken. My mistake. Clearly you're living in a thriving metropolis."

"You're being dramatic."