Page 101 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

“Not even a little.”

I wait. His smile appears. “I promised someone I’d stop by.”

“And you need medical supervision?”

“I need a ride.”

That surprises me. “Where’s Colby?”

“Picking Jillie up from school. Coach has practice. I had a car service scheduled, but the rink is only a few blocks away.”

“The rink.”

“A community rink.” My curiosity wins before caution finishes presenting its argument.

“Ten minutes?”

“Maybe fifteen.”

“That isn’t what you asked.”

“I was easing you into it.”

I shake my head, but I’m already reaching for my coat. “Fifteen. But twenty would be safer.”

“For whom?”

He smiles. “Me.”

I should say no.

He is still my patient. We have professional boundaries. A promised stop at a neighborhood rink has nothing to do with his treatment plan. But his appointment is finished. The rink is nearby. And I want to know where Jamie Walker goes when he isn’t at an arena, a hospital, or his quiet cabin.

“Fifteen,” I repeat. He opens the clinic door for me with his right hand. “I’ll work quickly.”

“That phrase worries me.”

“It should.”

***

The community rink sits behind an elementary school on the older east side of Frostholm.

The building is squat and weathered, constructed of faded brick with a blue metal roof and a hand-painted sign above the entrance.

MILLER COMMUNITY ICE CENTER

A row of snow-covered bicycles leans against the side wall despite the cold. Hockey sticks fill a rack near the doors. The parking lot holds more patched-up sedans than luxury vehicles, and half the children entering carry equipment that has clearly belonged to someone else first.

Jamie’s face changes the moment we arrive. Not dramatically. The tightness around his eyes simply eases.

“You come here often?”

“Not as often as I should.”

He opens the passenger door before I can reach for the handle. “You’re still protecting everyone from basic tasks?”

“Old habits.”