Page 138 of Cross Ice

Danny smiled. “There you go.”

“What if I try and I still can’t handle it?”

“Then you’ll know. But you won’t know until you stop white-knuckling it and actually let yourself be there.”

“There’s a game tomorrow night,” I said. “Home game. Seven o’clock.”

He pinned me with a look. “You going?”

“Yeah… I’m going.”

After he left, I walked to the coffee shop two blocks from my building. Not the one on Calaveras that the gossip site had documented, but a different one, smaller, with no corner table to be spotted at. I ordered a latte, sat by the window, and drank it without taking out my phone.

A man came in who glanced at me twice. I held his gaze briefly and looked back at my cup. He ordered a pour-over coffee and left.

That was it.

I sat there for another twenty minutes, just a person drinking coffee by a window, and nothing happened. That felt like an answer to something.

Friday evening, I stood outside the arena at six thirty and tried to calm my shaking hands. I’d bought a ticket online, a decent seat, not right behind the bench but still close to the team. I walked through the concourse, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Found my seat. Sat down.

The arena was filling up. Families, groups of friends, fans in Lasers jerseys.

I pulled out my phone and texted Nico.

Evan

I’m here. Section 128, Row 12.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Nico

You came.

Evan

Yeah. I came.

Nico

I’m glad. Meet you at the players’ entrance after.

I put my phone away and took in the excitement building around me. The buzz of voices rising, echoing in the cavernous space. That distinct smell of an ice rink, cold and sharp, mixed with the buttery aroma of popcorn. The ice below gleamed clean and bright. A family settled into the row beside me, the dad explaining the goal crease to his daughter.

A woman in the row in front of me turned around. “Excuse me. Aren’t you Nicolás Briggs’s boyfriend?”

My heart started racing.

I could lie. Could say no, wrong person, turn away and ignore her.

Or I could do what Wesley said. Make it boring. Don’t react.

“Yeah,” I said.

She smiled. “That’s so cool. My son loves Briggs. He’s his favorite player.”

“He’s pretty great.”