Page 141 of Wild Card 13

The words landed somewhere tender before I could prepare for them. She did not appear to notice. Or perhaps she noticed and understood enough not to make me acknowledge it in the middle of a crowded concourse.

We followed Mrs. Burns down the steps toward the lower bowl. The ice opened beneath us, white and impossibly bright beneath the arena lights. The Northbend student section occupied the entire end behind one goal, already dancing in uneven rows while the band stumbled through the school fight song for what sounded like the third consecutive time.

Half the students held popcorn bags. The arena had technically banned the tradition last season after someone threw an unopened box instead of a handful and nearly hit an official. The ban had not survived contact with Northbend High.

“They’re going to throw that onto the ice, aren’t they?” Naomi asked.

“Only after we score.”

“Why?”

“Tradition.”

“Who cleans it up?”

“The freshmen who didn’t make varsity.”

She stopped walking. “You’re joking.”

“Mostly.”

“This entire town needs supervision.”

“I’ve been saying that for years.”

Our section sat several rows above the glass near Northbend’s blue line. Marion had not simply saved two seats. The Burnses had occupied a complete block of them.

Kendrick, Hal, Fraser, and Thane sat across the back row. Kendrick had stretched one arm along the empty seat beside him while speaking to Hal, who held a folded paper roster on one knee and a sharpened pencil in his large, weathered hand. Fraser sat forward with his elbows braced on his thighs, his attention already fixed on the empty Northbend bench.

Thane looked as though he had arrived from a different level of the sport entirely. A black jacket from Chicago’s minor-league affiliate fit neatly across his shoulders. His hair was shorter than Ty’s, his posture more controlled. Even seated among his family, he carried the contained stillness of someone who had already learned that professional hockey meant being watched when you were not playing.

Several people had recognized him on our way down the aisle. Thane had acknowledged none of them.

In the row below, Ruth Burns had claimed the aisle seat beside an insulated tote large enough to hold medical supplies. She wore a navy cardigan beneath her winter coat and had folded two thick blankets across the seats she had preserved for us.

“There she is,” Ruth announced as soon as she saw me. “I told Marion you’d get here before the boys came out. Sit down before someone tries taking your spot.”

Nobody appeared brave enough to attempt that.

Ruth pulled me into a firm one-armed hug, kissed my cheek, then tucked one of the blankets across my lap despite the fact that the arena was nearly warm from the crowd.

“I’m not cold,” I chortled as her tiny fingers kneaded the soft fabric under my thighs.

“You will be.”

“I’m wearing three layers.”

“You’re five feet tall and all skin and bones. That doesn’t count as insulation.”

Naomi covered a laugh with one gloved hand.

Ruth pointed at her. “You too.”

Within seconds, both of us had been seated beneath heavy plaid blankets like children attending an outdoor parade.

Marion settled on Ruth’s other side and began unscrewing the top from her thermos. Behind us, Kendrick leaned forward between the seats.

“Whole family rearranged their lives to watch the youngest one skate in circles,” Ty’s oldest brother said. “Nice to know where we rank.”