Page 3 of On Thin Ice

No wonder a lot of ex-players turned to drugs and booze to cope.

He’d made it nearly to the sidewalk when he noticed someone sitting on one of the concrete benches lining the walk up to Hossa Rink. A streetlight was partially shining on him, the caramel-colored mop of hair on the guy’s head unmistakable.

That head was bent down, over a dimmed screen, and as Jacob passed, he saw an unmistakable flash of unbearable frustration cross over his face before it was wiped clean.

Shit.

He should leave it alone. He should keep walking and not invite more pain. He should pretend he hadn’t seen him, and just keep going—

“Hey.”

He found himself in front of Finn, opening his mouth before he could snatch the greeting back.

Finn glanced up.

In this light, he didn’t look much like his father at all. Except for the hair, which he wore longer, letting it curl around his forehead, his ears. Morgan had always kept it cropped short, like the melting pot of browns and blonds and hints of red, all tangled up in swirls and loops, made him too soft.

The curls didn’t make Finn look soft, they made him look—

Jacob cut that thought off hard and fast. This wasMorgan’s son.

“Decided you hadn’t done enough by just staring at me, huh?” Finn asked.

Jacob couldn’t help the wince. Considered denying Finn’s accusation. But he didn’t. “No. Sorry. I’ll—”

He went to turn, but Finn caught his arm.

Jacob looked down at the hand curled around his plaid jacket. He could feel the warmth and power of it even through the fabric. Up close, Finn didn’t look as young as Jacob had imagined he might. He’d grown up even in the six months or so since they’d last seen each other. He was a man now, despite the haunting insecurities hiding in the corners of his gaze.

He shouldreallygo.

But Finn’s grayish-green eyes were clear in the streetlight, looking directly at him. “No,I’msorry,” he said.

Jacob wasn’t sure either of them were really all that sorry, but maybe it was better to preserve the fiction.

“Well, uh, I thought—” He started and then stopped. Started again. Papered over his own awkwardness with the reminder words had never been his strong suit. “Thought I should say hi, at least.”

“Hi,” Finn said wryly.

“Right.” He could tell Finn to tell his old man hi for him, too, but the last time they’d seen each other, Jacob had still been playing, in his last All Star Game, and Morgan had been newly retired, and the one time they’d actually come face-to-face, Morgan had told him to go fuck himself.

Jacob, blood hot, might have shoved a hard elbow into his gut and told him he wasn’t taking names right now, and even if he was, he wouldn’t want his balls to freeze off.

Not his best moment. Not Morgan’s, either, but then Morgan had always seemed to enjoy their feud more than Jacob had.

“Uh, how’s . . .uh . . .” Jacob rubbed his neck and shot Finn a sheepish look. “I guess your dad’s doing just fine.”

If Morgan Reynolds had struggled with retirement, it had never been public—or even private—knowledge.

He’d gone straight from success to even more success. Investing in companies, buying into an AHL team, gracing ESPN with all his very important insights.

Jacob hadn’t wanted to keep resenting the asshole, but it had been hard when he’d been so tangled up and Morgan was seemingly just fucking fine.

As always.

“Of course he is.” Finn sounded like he resented this fine-ness too. Something he and the boy had in common.

He’s not a boy. Not from this angle.

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