Page 23 of The Save

I exhaled. “Okay, I’m sorry I was being pissy about my name.”

Chase laughed. “You were being pissy.”

“You didn’t email me.”

“I already explained?—”

“Yeah, I know. You think this whole thing is bullshit. Your words, not mine.”

He slowed as we approached the entrance then reached out and held the door for me. I stared at it then at him with his arm outstretched. “This is weird.”

“Yeah.”

“If we acknowledge it, will it be less weird?”

Chase’s lips twitched. “Doubtful.”

“That’s what I thought.” I walked through the door. Inside, the café was warm and smelled like fresh bread. There were three small tables along the window, a short counter for ordering, and a few aisles with bags of candy, snacks, and emergency essentials. One table was occupied by a couple of tired-looking students in Douglas hoodies, their trays piled high with fries. The board above the counter offered daily specials in wonky chalk handwriting: tomato soup, grilled ham and cheese, and something called a Dome Power Bowl.

Chase ordered the fried chicken sandwich. I went for the Caesar salad with grilled chicken, not because I wanted tolook like I was eating healthy, but because I hadn’t ingested vegetables since Saturday. And I doubted onion rings even counted.

He handed the cashier a couple of bills, and we stood off to the side to wait.

"You said you coached before?"

Chase nodded. "With a couple of different teams, but not at the university level."

"Wasn't part of the plan?"

He fingered a package of gummy worms. "Not initially."

I couldn't handle these two-word answers, and while he'd given me a few details of his life, it hadn't scratched the itch in the least. I wanted more. And maybe if we actually talked about the interim between now and when we'd seen each other last, some of this tension I felt would disappear. Maybe it was the mystery of it that was making my body go haywire.

"What happened? After you left?"

Chase turned and started to answer, then stopped himself. "How long did he stay?"

I knew instantly who he was talking about. His dad. I wrapped my arms around myself involuntarily. "About three months." It might've been less than that, but I remembered the day my mom finally changed the locks. I'd just gotten back from Calaway Park with my friend Kate, and there was a pile of his things on the front porch.

"I felt bad about that." Chase looked up at the menu board, his jaw tight. "Leaving you both with him."

My ribs seemed to cinch around my lungs. He felt bad? I didn't think he'd given us a second thought. "You were barely ever there."

He scrubbed his hand over the barely-there stubble on his jaw. "Yeah."

Another little puzzle piece. Was it possible that Chase wasn't out at all hours of the night because he was cool and popular? Was it because . . . he didn't want to be home?

My whole worldview tipped on its axis. I rewound the tape and searched for all the times he was at the house. It was usually in the afternoon, right after school or in the morning on the weekends. What seventeen-year-old was up at eight thirty in the morning on a Saturday? I couldn't help it. I still wasn't able to sleep in, even after staying up until two in the morning. Naps had become my friend since coming to Douglas.

Chase exhaled. "I wasn't stupid enough to think I'd make it straight to the NHL, but hockey was my best option to get out."

I chewed on that for a moment. "It's not stupid to go for something big. And you were so good."

"'Were' being the operative word there."

Tension radiated off of him. I lowered my voice. "Injury?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just not good enough."

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