Page 24 of On Thin Ice

When he’d changed colleges last year, moving from the east to the west coast, they’d barely seemed to care. He’d been worried they’d insist he move to the AHL or another one of the development leagues, thinking that would be a better use of his time than a new college. But they hadn’t said a word, and that had ended up feeling even worse.

Morgan had pointed out, bluntly, that to get them to give a shit, he needed to have a killer season.

“I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.”To making it. To falling right off that edge. I need a hand, to pull me up, and it’s sure not gonna be my dad’s.

Jacob stared at him, like heknewhow close to falling apart Finn was.

Like he not only understood it, but that he’d experienced it, too.

“Okay.”

It was all Jacob said, and he turned abruptly and started walking farther into the house. Finn followed, eyes barely taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the picture-perfect woods, barely visible in the darkness.

Jacob took him to a door and then a staircase, narrow and winding, that led down.

Maybe he should’ve hesitated. Maybe hewasabout to be murdered, in Jacob’s serial killer basement.

But to Finn’s surprise the narrowness ended abruptly, in a large gym that might’ve taken up the whole downstairs level of the house.

One side of the room was lined with shelves, full of memorabilia and awards from when Jacob had played. Framed jerseys lined another wall. Jacob’s, and several other famous players, including some who’d been teammates and some who hadn’t.

Finn was not surprised that a Morgan Reynolds’ jersey was not included in the display. His dad had played for a division rival and even more than that, there’d been so much venom exchanged between the two of them over the years.

Half the gym was devoted to equipment. Finn took in the treadmill, the rower, and an elliptical. A huge cushy looking mat, with stacks of weights.

But the other side was entirely different. There were only two pieces of equipment. A full-sized goal and a machine that Finn recognized could randomly shoot pucks.

The concrete floor was smooth, and might not be exactly like ice, but it would be close enough, on skates.Roller, not ice.

“Here,” Jacob said, speaking up from behind Finn. He pointed to a bench pushed all the way to one side of the room. There was one set of in-line roller skates underneath that looked well-used. Jacob’s, then.

And another pair, still nestled in a box.

“How’d you know my shoe size?” Finn asked, walking over to the bench. He’d practiced like this before. Not everyone had access to ice year-round. His dad had a setup like this in their Italian villa.

“Not that hard to find out,” Jacob said. “Your equipment manager was all too happy to tell me when I texted him this morning.”

Marcus could be a bit of a chatterbox.

“Did you tell him why?”

“I agreed to send over a signed puck, andwhynever even crossed his lips,” Jacob said.

Finn didn’t need to hear more. He understood, had watched it with his dad too many times to count. Most regular people froze and then became completely pliant when faced with a famous person. They couldn’t even help it.

“You ever get tired of it?” Finn wondered as he sat on the bench, toeing off his sneakers and pulling over the skates.

“All the fucking time?” Jacob sighed. “Of course when it’s convenient, no. And that’s worse. Makes me a hypocrite.”

“But a cute one?” Finn teased.

Jacob made a face. Like he was trying to be anythingbutcute. “I thought we said—”

“Listen, you have to stop worrying about this. I . . .” Finn hesitated. “I make jokes, ’cause it’s easier than feeling all the bullshit I feel. So get used to it.”

“Alright,” Jacob said stiffly. He looked like he wanted to ask what the bullshit was but he didn’t. Maybe he already knew—or could guess.

Finn laced up the skates. “Any particular drill you want to run after I get stretched out?”

---