Page 59 of Man Advantage

“I miss you,” he said.

The subject change didn’t fool either of them. Ford let him have it anyway. His gaze dropped for a moment before returning to Cole. “Miss you too. You looked good out there.”

Cole returned to the edge of the bed. Ford’s praise should have settled something after the way Cole had picked apart every shift. Instead, it made him want the impossible—to reach through the screen and have Ford say it with nothing between them.

“Let yourself have this tonight,” Ford said.

Cole leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “I can be happy and still want to be home.”

Ford’s lips parted. Whatever answer had almost come disappeared when someone knocked on Cole’s door.

“Englund?” Patrick called from the hall. “We’re meeting in the bar downstairs. Come with us.”

Cole looked toward the door. Patrick hadn’t offered the invitation to the room. He had come upstairs to make sure Cole got it.

“Give me a minute,” Cole called.

“I’ll wait.”

When Cole looked back at the phone, Ford had arranged his expression into something that almost passed for a smile. “Go.”

“I can call you from⁠—”

“Go be with your team.” Ford’s voice stayed steady, but his eyes moved away from Cole. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Cole wanted to tell him Port Haven was his team. Ford and Charlotte were his home. But Patrick was waiting outside, and Ford had already started pulling away.

“Tomorrow,” Cole said.

Ford nodded and ended the call before Cole could.

Chicago flew out the next morning. Two nights later, Cole’s name stayed on the lineup. This time, his knees didn’t shake when he dressed.

The second game moved faster. Cole did too. He stopped waiting for the play to announce itself and started meeting it where it was going. Late in the third, Chicago protected a one-goal lead, and Cole went over the boards for the kill.

The shot came from the point through traffic. Cole turned one leg into the lane. The puck hit above the knee and dropped between his skates. He found it before anybody else did and sent it down the length of the ice.

The bench rose behind him. The goalie knocked his stick against Cole’s calf when the horn blared.

The locker room was still buzzing when Cole pulled off his gear. Conversations crossed the aisle faster than he could follow them. Someone passing behind him tapped his shoulder and told him it was a hell of a block. Another teammate tossed him a recovery drink without asking which flavor he wanted.

Cole caught it and joined the argument already underway about who had nearly cost them the lead. By the time Patrick cut in with a dry correction that made the stall beside Cole erupt, Cole was laughing with everyone else.

The strip bearing his name was still taped above a stall that could belong to someone else by the end of the week. Cole knew better than to unpack as if he’d earned permanence. But nobody in the locker room was treating him like a visitor now, and after two games, he no longer felt like one.

The reporter waiting near the door asked how it felt to help close out a game after so many years in the minors. Cole gave the answer players gave. Good group. Glad to help. Ready whenever they needed him.

By the time Cole showered and dressed, the only answer he wanted was Ford’s. He found a message waiting while he knotted the green tie.

Ford

Hell of a kill.

You awake?

The dots appeared, vanished, then returned.

For a little bit