“I know you’re in there, dammit.” He could see a light burning somewhere in the back.
His breath created a billow of condensation, obscuring his view. He shifted from foot to foot, as if that would keep the blood from freezing in his veins. He might spend half his life on the ice, but the exertion and adrenaline of hockey always kept him dripping in sweat. Now he was just freezing his ass off.
Grant yanked off a ski glove and rapped his knuckles against one of the double glass doors again, then blew into his palm to warm it and raised his voice to yell, “Hello?”
No movement. No sound. Nothing.
Grant pulled out his phone and checked the time. One minute after six p.m. They’d closed early.Calebpical.
“Damn hick town.”
He shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jacket and his hand back into his glove, then turned and looked both directions down Main Street. It was deserted on this bitterly cold night just weeks before Christmas. Not much had changed about the storybook setting—one that belonged at Santa’s workshop in the North Pole. But Grant had been gone long enough for the sugary-sweet gingerbread on every building to make him gag a little. And he was sure Holly dominated ninety percent of North Carolina’s power grid from Halloween through New Year’s with all the additional lights and moving decorations residents added for the holidays. As if they needed more.
Across the street, a lone human figure dressed in a dark parka emerged from the shadowed storefronts and shuffled across the street. “Whatcha need there, son?”
That was just like this place—everyone up in everyone else’s business.
The voice identified him as an older man, and as he approached the sidewalk, Grant caught a look at his face beneath the hood of his jacket, confirming he was in his sixties.
“Christmas tree,” Grant said. “If I go home without it, my mama’s gonna be pissed.”
The man harrumphed and narrowed his eyes. “Which mama would that be?”
“Hazel Saber.”
The man stopped and straightened out of the cold hunch that populated the streets of Holly this time of year. He pushed his hood back with a gloved hand. “Grant? That you?”
The weathered face looking back at Grant flooded him with a rush of great memories. Some of the best he had of his youth here in Holly.
“Mr. Lowry?” Mike Lowry was the father of one of Grant’s best friends and teammates all through school. Grant laughed and stepped forward to hug the man he spent so many years wishing had been his father rather than the man he’d been born to. “How are you?”
Mike gave him the same bear hug he’d always shared and nostalgic warmth softened a few of Grant’s rough edges. “Good, good.” He stepped back, with a big smile creasing his face. He’d probably aged more than a decade over the last ten years, but he still looked great to Grant. “I’ve been watching all your games, you know, since you went pro. Even sprung for cable so I could watch the ones on those odd ball channels.”
Grant laughed at the farmer’s rough language and made a mental note to pay the man’s cable bill into perpetuity. “That’s great. How’s Bobby doing?”
“Oh, real good.” The freezing temperatures didn’t quicken Mike’s lazy drawl. “Got himself a farm of his own in Bonnettsville. Married Becky Snell ‘bout four years ago. They’ve got a three-year-old little girl and another baby on the way. Bobby’s hopin’ for a boy this time. One he can take out on the ice with him.”
“He can take a girl on the ice,” Grant said, working to engage in the conversation. Every word reminded him of why he’d been so anxious to get out of this town. The whole stuck on a farm with a wife and kids scenario was making invisible walls close in on him.
“Aw, well, he don’t get out on the ice much anymore anyway. But wait until everyone hears we’ve got a star in our midst this Christmas. Did I hear you’re gonna be working with Dwayne and the high school team?”
“Yeah.” Remembering the positive half of what had
brought him back to Holly helped smooth the frustration he’d met up with upon arriving—his mother. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Bet he is too. Since MaryAnn passed, he’s real lonely. Bends the ear of anyone who will listen. Those kids keep him going, you know? It’ll be real good for him to see you.”
Mike kept talking, and Grant was reminded of how many people in this town loved to bend an ear. He just kept nodding while Mike talked about Dwayne, the high school hockey team, his granddaughter, and Bobby’s farm until Grant could find a spot to cut in.
“Well, say hi to him for me, would you?” Grant said. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. I’d love to have a beer with him if he’s around.”
“Oh, he’d like that. Say, how’s your shoulder? It’s been keepin’ you off the ice, right?”
“Yes, sir, but not for much longer. Surgery was a success, and I’m done with PT. Just waiting for the doctors to clear me. I should be back in the game after the holiday break.”
And, God, he could not wait. He’d been going stir crazy. There was only so much working out he could do. So many training tapes he could watch. So many soft practices he could participate in. So many wanna-be Rider Girls to coach through riding lessons.
Okay, there were an endless supply of wanna-be Rider Girls. But in truth, Grant wouldn’t mind a little variety. Though he wasn’t exactly in a place where variety was bursting at the seams.