Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
The woman at the Lakeshore Diner set Leo’s coffee on the counter before he sat down. He hadn’t had to order in weeks.
“Black, two sugars,” she said. “I already put your order in.”
Leo pulled out the stool and dropped onto it. The vinyl was cracked along one seam, worn down to foam, and he’d sat on it enough mornings now that the split fell in the same spot against his left thigh. “Thanks, Diane.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the fact that you order the same thing every day like a man without imagination.” She topped off the trucker two stools down without breaking stride.
Leo wrapped both hands around the mug. The diner was warm. November had turned Port Haven gray and sharp, the lake wind cutting through the gaps in his jacket on the walk over.
His eggs came up fast. Over easy, wheat toast, a side of bacon he hadn’t ordered but kept getting because the cook had decided Leo was too thin for a hockey player. Leo didn’t argue. Three months ago, he would have sent it back and asked for egg whites. He ate the bacon.
The door opened and cold air rushed in. A woman Leo recognized from the hardware store stopped at his stool on the way to a booth.
“Nice game Saturday,” she said. “Tell Jonesy he owes my husband a beer. He bet against the Stags.”
“Jonesy owes a lot of people beer.”
“That’s what I hear.” She squeezed his shoulder as she passed, and Leo watched her go with his toast halfway to his mouth.
Six weeks ago, nobody in this diner knew his name.
Now, Diane had his order memorized, the cook fed him unsolicited bacon, and a woman whose name he wasn’t sure about touched his shoulder like he belonged here.
He could map it, the exact sequence of mornings that had turned him from stranger to regular, but that wasn’t how it had worked.
He’d kept showing up, and the town had stopped asking why.
His phone buzzed.
Dawson
Ethan’s got plans Friday. Out all night.
Leo read it twice. Set the phone face-down on the counter, drank his coffee, and picked it back up. His thumb hovered before he typed, and he made himself wait until he’d swallowed.
Is that supposed to be an invitation to finally see where you live?
I was considering it. You got a game?
Saturday. Friday’s free.
Come after seven. I’ll figure out food.
Leo pocketed the phone. Friday was two days away, which felt manageable. He finished his eggs and left cash on the counter, overtipping because Diane had once mentioned her daughter needed braces, and he’d been overtipping ever since.
Practice ran long. Coach kept them on the ice an extra twenty minutes working neutral zone transitions, and by the time Leo peeled off his gear and showered, the locker room was half-empty.
Jonesy was still there, arguing with Ski about something that had started as hockey and devolved into a debate about whether a hot dog was a sandwich.
Leo was pulling on his jacket when Deluca stuck his head into the locker room. The conversations didn’t stop but the volume dropped a notch.
“Quick one,” Deluca said. “Front office finalized a trade with Grand Rapids. Defenseman Cole Englund. Twenty-seven, right-shot. He’ll be here on Friday.
” He glanced around the room. “The inn’s booked solid, some hunting group’s got it through the month.
If any of you have a spare room or a couch, I’d appreciate it. Just until he finds a place.”
Ski looked at Jonesy. Jonesy looked at Russ. Ford scratched the back of his neck. Nobody volunteered.
“I’ve got a couch he can crash on,” Leo said.
Deluca looked at him. “Yeah?”
“I mean, it’s a hand-me-down and the apartment itself isn’t anything fancy but we can make it work.” Never in his life would Leo have considered himself the guy on the team who’d volunteer to have a roommate, but he was trying to be the team player his former coach said he needed to be.
No, that wasn’t the reason. The truth was he was different up here. He wanted to be a real part of this team, and part of that meant helping welcome the new guy.
“Appreciate it, Vargas. I’ll pass along your number.”
Deluca left. Jonesy punched Leo’s shoulder on the way out. “Look at you, Vargas. Regular welcome wagon.”
Leo shrugged. “You guys did it for me, just passing it along.”
His mother called while he was making dinner.
Leo wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder and kept stirring.
Chicken, rice, black beans—his abuela’s recipe, or close enough with what the grocery store carried.
He’d been cooking more since he got here.
Other than pizza, nothing delivered this far out.
“When was the last time you checked in with Phil?” So much for a greeting, asking how he was doing, anything that might have made it seem like she cared about his well-being off the ice.
Leo turned the heat down. “I talked to him last month.”
“Last month. Leo, last month is a lifetime. Things move fast, and if you’re not paying attention—”
“I’m paying attention. I’m also in the middle of a season.”
“I know you’re in the middle of a season. That’s exactly when you should be having conversations. While you’re playing well, while people are watching. Phil should be making calls. I’ll call him to see what his plan is to get you out of there.”
“Phil works for me, Mom. Not you.”
“Contracts end. And when yours does, you should be ready.” She paused. “I looked up Port Haven, Leo. I Google Earthed it. I don’t understand how a town that size even has a team. There’s one stoplight.”
“They have three.” He’d felt the same when he moved to town, but he didn’t like her talking shit about how quaint it looked when she’d never visited. It was quaint, and sometimes a little too much like a made-for-TV movie, but it was nice.
“There’s a gas station with a sign that still says ninety-nine cents. I don’t even know what costs ninety-nine cents.”
“Probably the sign. Nobody’s updated it.
” Leo laughed, knowing exactly which place she was talking about.
The gas station on the north edge of town hadn’t updated their signs since they stopped selling gas years ago.
Could it be called a gas station anymore if they didn’t sell gas?
Didn’t matter. The place was run-down but friendly, and he was impressed that they’d found a way to stay open when bigger chain stores came into the area.
“This isn’t funny.” Ice clinked on her end. “You’re twenty-six years old, and you’re playing in a town where the team website spelled your name wrong for two weeks.”
“They fixed that in September.”
“Leo.”
He set the spoon down. The rice was done.
“When are you getting out of there?” she said. “Give me a timeline.”
Leo leaned against the counter. Through the window, the streetlight was on, casting the same orange cone it cast every night.
Dawson’s gloves were on the table next to a week of mail.
He’d picked them up twice already and put them back both times, because moving them would’ve felt like erasing the fact that Dawson had been here.
“I like it here, Mom.”
Three seconds of silence. He counted because the length of the silence would indicate how exasperated she was.
“You like it there,” she repeated.
“Yeah.”
“You like the town with one grocery store and an arena twenty minutes away.”
“I’m playing well. The team’s good. People know my name.” He kept his voice even. Just true. “I’ve got a life here.”
“A life.” She said life the same way she’d said stuck. “Leo, this was supposed to be temporary. You said that. Your agent said that—”
“I know what I said.”
A pause. Ice again on her end. When she spoke, the pitch had shifted from offense to something quieter. “Then what changed?”
He couldn’t answer that. Not honestly, not to her.
The honest answer was a frustrating man with callused hands who was finally letting him in.
The invitation to his house on Friday felt like a huge step because it was the first time Leo would be in his space instead of them always ending up at the apartment.
“I’m not ready to leave,” he said. “That’s all.”
“Even your father thinks you should talk to Phil,” she said.
“Dad said that?” He doubted it. His mom was the one who meddled in his career; Dad was simply along for the ride. He tended to go along with whatever she said just to avoid fighting.
Just like you do. Leo tried to shake the voice in the back of his head into silence.
“He agrees with me.”
Which meant she’d told his father what to think, and his father had nodded from behind The Wall Street Journal. Leo pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and counted backward from five.
“I’ll call Phil when I have something to talk to him about.”
“Leo—”
“I have to go, Mom. Food’s getting cold.”
He hung up before she could mount her next attack.
He set the phone on the counter and stood there, both hands on the edge, head down.
She wasn’t wrong. Port Haven was small. But his mother measured success in straight lines — drafts and contracts and bigger cities — and Leo had stopped wanting any of those things.
He didn’t know how to explain it to her. He wasn’t sure he wanted to try.
Cole Englund showed up Friday afternoon with a duffel bag, an equipment bag, and a look Leo recognized from his own first week. The one that said, Where the fuck am I?
He was taller than Leo, with a narrow face and ears that stuck out under a backward cap. He stood in Leo’s doorway and scanned the apartment like he wasn’t sure this was really happening.
“Couch is yours,” Leo said. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Towels are in the closet. There’s beer in the fridge, and if you eat the last of something, replace it, or I’ll bag-skate you myself.”
Cole dropped his duffel by the couch. “How long did it take you to find a place?”
“I didn’t look. Drove up, stayed at the inn for a couple of weeks, and then Gunnar told me there was a unit opening here.
” Leo opened the fridge. “The rental market’s crap most of the time, but he’s good at knowing when something’s open.
We can head over to The Penalty Box later if you want and I’ll introduce you to him. ”
“Yeah. That’d be good.” Cole sat on the couch and tested the cushions, bouncing once, twice, the same test Charlotte had run months ago. Same verdict, probably. Good for naps.
Leo handed him a beer. “How long were you in Grand Rapids?”
“Nine years.” Cole cracked the beer. “Thought things were solid there.”
“Just because you were traded doesn’t mean you fucked up.
” Leo wasn’t sure why he was trying to comfort his new roommate.
Cole was old enough he knew what the life was like.
They moved players around like chess pieces, not caring how the players felt about their lives being uprooted.
“Listen, I know you might not be stoked to be here, but give it a shot.”
“That’s what my buddy Russ said, too.” Cole nodded. “He said the town’s small, but the team’s good.”
“Russ is right on both counts.”
Cole drank, looked out the window, then back.
Leo grabbed his keys off the counter. “I’m heading out for the night. You good here on your own?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
Leo pulled on his jacket and took the stairs two at a time.
Leo sat in his car for a full minute before he turned the key.
He didn’t know what was waiting on the other side of Dawson’s front door, but he knew it was going to change something between them.
He put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot.