Cole POV
The engine is still running when I turn the truck around.
She is three flights up by the time I hit the corner. Her porch light is off. Her window is already dark. I tell myself I am circling back for the bag I left on the bench at Crestline. The lie does not survive the drive.
I park where I always park. The side door is never locked. I let myself in without turning on the lights.
The ice does not ask questions. That is why I like it.
I lace up in the dark, shoulder pads strapped on out of pure muscle memory, and step over the boards. The cold hits my chest, shoving the rest of the night out of the way. There is no coach here to grade me, so I just skate. I take hard strides into the corners and crossovers through center.
There is no music and no plan. I skate until my lu
