Page 46 of The Man in the Cottage

Chapter Fourteen

Travis

The arena smells the same.

That's the first thing I notice when I walk through the doors—the cold, the rubber, the industrial cleaner they use on the floors. It's been six months since I've been in this building, and nothing has changed. Same banners hanging from the rafters. Same photos on the walls. Same security guard at the entrance who nods at me like I never left.

"Good to have you back, Howe."

"Thanks, Charlie."

I head for the locker room, my bag slung over my shoulder, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding. This was supposed to feel like coming home. This was supposed to feel right. Instead I feel like an imposter, like someone pretending to belong in a place that moved on without him.

The locker room is empty when I arrive. Practice doesn't start for another hour, but I wanted to get here early, ease back in before anyone else showed up. My locker is still in the same spot, my nameplate still above it. Someone kept it clean while I was gone—no dust, no abandoned tape rolls, no signs that half a year passed without me here.

I sit down on the bench and stare at the logo on the wall. The team I've played for since I was twenty-two years old. The team that drafted me, developed me, made me into whatever I am now. I gave them everything. And then I gave them a reason to walk away.

They didn't walk away, though. That's the part I can't quite wrap my head around. Dave called three days ago with the news—the suspension is officially over. The team wants me back. Not just for practice, but for games. The coach wants to meet, talk about where I fit in, figure out how to reintegrate me into the lineup.

I should be relieved. I should be grateful. Instead I keep thinking about Kelly, about Longshore, about the cottage that's starting to feel more like home than this place ever did.

The door opens behind me. I turn, expecting a trainer or equipment manager, and instead I see Jaxson Morris—my linemate for the past three years, one of the few guys I'd actually call a friend.

"Holy shit." He stops in the doorway, grinning. "He lives."

"Hey, Marc."

"Hey, Marc? That's all I get?" He crosses the room and pulls me into a hug, clapping me on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of me. "Six months, man. Six months of nothing. I thought you were dead."

"Just hiding."

"Yeah, I heard." He sits down on the bench next to me, his grin fading into something more serious. "You okay? For real?"

I think about the question. Am I okay? I'm better than I was six months ago, when I was drowning in grief and anger and couldn't see a way out. But okay feels like a stretch.

"I'm getting there," I say.

"Good. That's good." He nods slowly. "Look, I'm not going to ask about what happened. I saw the video, same as everyone else. I figure if you want to talk about it, you will."

"I appreciate that."

"But I am going to say this." He turns to face me. "Whatever you did, whatever the reason—you're still one of us. The guys, the team, we didn't forget that. Some of the front office people have opinions, sure. But in this room? You're still Travis. You're still our guy."

Something tightens in my throat. I didn't expect this. I expected awkwardness and distance. I didn't expect Jaxson to look me in the eye and tell me I still belong.

"Thanks, Marc."

"Don't get soft on me." He punches my shoulder. "Now get dressed. We've got practice in an hour, and you look like you haven't skated in months."

"I've been skating."

"At some rinky-dink rink in Virginia? That doesn't count."

"How do you know about that?"

He grins. "Dave talks. He's worried about you, man. Keeps saying you're not returning his calls."

"I've been busy."