Sienna found Dean at the rink at eleven, same as always, but tonight he wasn’t shooting. Just skating, slow circles in the empty building, no puck, no purpose except the ice and the dark and whatever he was carrying that hadn’t let him sleep.
She’d been coming to the rink so often that Walt had stopped being surprised by her. He just waved her through now and went back to whatever he was doing, and she pulled on the borrowed skates that were two sizes too big and came out through the boards and stood there until Dean saw her.
He slowed. Didn’t say anything.
Sienna skated to center ice, wobbly but upright — she’d gotten better — and stopped beside him.
“You don’t have to tell me tonight,” she said.
“Tell you what.”
“Whatever you were almost going to tell me in the parking lot. You can
