Page 49 of The Man in the Cottage

I just have to figure out what that means.

The drive back to the hotel takes twenty minutes. I've got a room downtown, close to the arena, paid for by the team as part of my "reintegration process." It's nice—nicer than anywhere I've stayed in months—but it feels sterile. Anonymous. Like a place you pass through on the way to somewhere else.

I order room service and eat in front of the TV without watching it. My body is tired but my mind won't stop spinning. Tomorrow there's another practice. Then a team meeting. Then a game on Saturday that I might or might not be cleared to play in.

A month ago, that uncertainty would have killed me. Now I'm not sure I care either way.

I pick up my phone and dial before I can talk myself out of it.

Kelly answers on the second ring. "Hey. I thought you were too tired to talk."

"I changed my mind." I lean back against the headboard. "Is that okay?"

"That's more than okay." I can hear her smile through the phone. "Tell me everything."

So I do. I tell her about the arena, the locker room, Jaxson and Coach Morrison and the way practice felt wrong in ways I can't quite explain. I tell her about staying on the ice after everyone left, skating laps and wondering what I'm doing here. I tell her about the question I can't stop asking myself: is this still what I want?

She listens without interrupting. That's one of the things I love about her—she knows when to talk and when to let me figure things out on my own.

"What do you think?" I ask when I'm done.

"I think you already know the answer," she says. "You're just scared to admit it."

"That's very insightful."

"I'm a writer. Insight is my whole thing."

I laugh despite myself. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." A pause. "Come home soon, okay? Whatever you decide about hockey, just... come home."

Home. She said it so easily, like it was obvious. Like Longshore—like her—is where I belong.

Maybe she's right.

"I'll be back Thursday," I say.

"I'll be here."

"I know you will."

Chapter Fifteen

Kelly

I'm on the porch with my laptop when the car pulls into the driveway.

It's Wednesday afternoon, the day after Travis left for practice with the team. I've been trying to write—keyword trying—but mostly I've been staring at the same paragraph and thinking about our phone call last night. The way his voice sounded when he said he wasn't sure if he wanted hockey anymore. The way he said "I miss you" like it cost him something to admit.

The car is a silver SUV, shiny and new, a vehicle that looks out of place on my grandmother's gravel driveway. I don't recognize it. I'm not expecting anyone.

I close my laptop and stand up as three people climb out. A woman in her fifties with highlighted hair and a puffy jacket. A man around the same age, tall and broad-shouldered, with gray at his temples. And a younger woman—late twenties, maybe—with the same build as the man and a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

They're walking toward the house like they belong here. Like they know exactly where they're going.

"Can I help you?" I call from the porch.

The older woman's smile widens. "You must be Kelly. I'm so glad we finally get to meet you."