Page 2 of Put a Rink on It

Those two weeks off start tomorrow after work.

Ten blissful weekdays to myself, to do as I please, with the Christmas holiday thrown into week one and the new year during week two.

On my way out of the office, my phone rings, Juliet’s name displayed.

“Hey, Ettie,” I answer with a smile, using our family’s nickname for her.

“Want to meet Ma and me for manis/pedis?”

“Now?” I stumble out of the elevator, tripping on my feet. It’s nearing six-thirty. They won’t be fully dry by bedtime.

“Do you have better plans?”

Since Nero canceled on me, nope.

“Uh, it’s kinda late, no?”

“Ma said you’d say that, but I insisted we invite you. Tate’s coming, too.”

Tate is my brother’s fiancée, the perfect match for Walsh. Between the two of them, they’ve got two eight-year-olds, both of whom are thriving despite having young parents.

I relent. I’ll sit under the dryer for a little extra time. “Sure, okay. I’ll meet you there.”

“Great. See you soon.” Her usual goodbye given, the line goes dead, only for it to ring again. I spy Nero’s name before I get the chance to assume it’s Juliet calling back.

“A phone call, Champ?” I speak, my chuckle ringing out around me in the quiet office building.

“My agent called. There’s talk of possible movement.”

My feet stop moving on the marble floor. I can’t tell from his voice his opinion on the matter. I’m also not sure what movement means. “To where?”

“Connecticut. Seems one of their players has been having trouble with management.”

The details of why get lost on me, but my ears perk up at the location.

“Connecticut,” I breathe. “That’s like, so close. When?”

“After the holiday break. Nothing is set in stone yet. How do we feel about this?”

“How do we feel?” I plop down on a bench in the lobby, trying to reconcile this news and why he’s mentioning “we.”

“We” as in him and me?

A collective “we”?

“We” as in himself?

“Hartford’s much closer than Minnesota, but it’s a big move. A new city, a new team, a new coaching staff.”

His entire career has been in Minnesota. He’s gotten used to new staff and players as they’ve joined the Minnesota Storm, but he has no experience relocating to a new place to play hockey. I would imagine there have to be some feelings on the subject. Even for a guy like Nero who’s as easygoing as they come.

“Right. But how do we feel?” he stresses.

“You keep saying we. Who exactly is we?” A nervous giggle expels. Why would my opinion matter? It’s a huge decision on his part, but as his friend, my consideration has no bearing.

“You, Ships. What’s your opinion?” I ignore the exasperation in his tone at having to answer the question.

“Is it a done deal? Is this your choice?”