Page 49 of The Callahan Effect

"I wanted to know if he could swap shifts next weekend. I figured he was either studying or asleep. Turns out he was busy."

My face became even warmer and Mason's grin widened.

"I think I'll enjoy getting to know everyone around here."

Graham laughed before disappearing toward the equipment storage area, wisely deciding not to embarrass me any further.

I changed quickly into my work clothes while Mason waited outside the locker room, and a few minutes later we stepped onto the empty rink together.

The arena felt completely different without nearly five thousand spectators filling the seats. Yesterday the building had pulsed with noise and excitement. This morning only the low hum of refrigeration equipment echoed through the silence, making the enormous space feel peaceful.

Mason wandered to the boards while I climbed onto the Zamboni.

"I've seen these things a thousand times," he admitted. "I've just never actually watched someone drive one until I came here."

I smiled before starting the engine.

The familiar vibration settled beneath me as naturally as breathing. After lowering the conditioner assembly onto the ice, I eased forward, allowing the blade to shave away the thin damaged layer left behind by yesterday's game while clean hot water flowed across the surface behind me. The machine followed its usual steady flow, each overlapping pass leaving another strip of smooth ice stretching across the rink. Years of repetition had turned every movement into instinct. I hardly needed to think anymore. My hands guided the wheel automatically as I judged every turn by sight and feel, making tiny adjustments that most people would never notice but ensured every inch of the surface remained exactly level.

When I glanced toward Mason several minutes later, I found him leaning against the boards exactly where I'd left him.

When I glanced toward Mason several minutes later, he was still exactly where I'd left him, his attention fixed entirely on me.

By the time I completed the final pass and guided the Zamboni back through the resurfacer gate, the ice gleamed beneath the arena lights without a mark remaining from yesterday's game.

Mason met me outside the garage.

"I had no idea there was that much precision involved."

I shrugged lightly.

Most people don't. They only notice when something isn't perfect.

"I'll never look at a rink the same way again."

His words stayed with me as we walked together toward the locker rooms. He disappeared inside to change into his practice gear while I headed toward Dad's office to let him know the ice was ready.

Dad stood beside the whiteboard studying the morning's practice plan when I knocked lightly against the open door.

"Morning, son. Everything ready?"

I signed 'yes' and he glanced toward the rink.

"Good. Stay for a few minutes."

***

The arena gradually filled with the familiar sounds that marked the beginning of every practice. Pucks skimmed across fresh ice, skates carved lazy circles through the neutral zone, and conversations drifted from one end of the rink to the other as the players completed their own warm-up routines before Dad officially took over.

I remained beside the boards where he'd asked me to wait, resisting the temptation to glance toward the locker room every few seconds even though I knew Mason would appear sooner rather than later.

It didn't take long.

He stepped onto the ice carrying his stick and stopped when his eyes landed on me. Even from the opposite side of the rink I could see the question forming on his face.

We'd walked into the arena together less than an hour earlier but instead waiting for Mason in the stands, I'd changed into skates and was standing beside Dad as though I belonged at the start of practice.

Mason started skating toward us before Ryan intercepted him. I couldn't hear what Ryan told him, but it was enough to make Mason glance back at me before turning reluctantly toward the rest of the team.