Chapter 5: Row Six

On Saturday I wore the blue sweater Bridget had pushed on me and a Falcons hat pulled low.

The pass was waiting at the will-call window with my name spelled right.

Under it lay a small padded envelope, sealed, with one word on the front in black marker.

"After."

I put it in my coat pocket and walked into the arena with my chin up and my knees not quite working.

The seats were in the lower bowl, a short flight of steps down from the tunnel, with a red rope around them and a row of players' wives and kids.

A little girl in a too-big jersey asked if I wanted a pretzel.

I said yes, because I couldn't say anything else.

I saw Colby and Delaney before the puck dropped.

They were in their usual seats, eight rows up and across the aisle, in the same two places they'd sat all winter.

He wore the gray hoodie. She wore the number nine jersey.

They weren't touching, which was almost funny.

They sat a careful foot apart.

The Falcons took the ice, and the arena roared.

Rhys Callaghan skated out last, with a C stitched on his chest.

He did a slow lap, and as he passed the glass in front of us, he lifted his stick a few inches in my direction.

It was so small that only I would have seen it.

The first period went by in a haze of ice and noise.

Between periods I checked my phone, and Colby's name was on the screen again.

"Is that you down there? Hal. Please."

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