Page 54
Cole gave a short, disbelieving shake of his head. “They lost two defensemen last night. They need a right shot for the next stretch. Deluca said I report tonight.”
Ford asked about the call-up because hockey was easier than what it meant for them. The answers still hurt.
“Are you dressing?”
Cole rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “Depends on who can go. They want me there either way.”
“For how long?”
“Deluca told me to pack for longer.”
Ford’s eyes caught on the open shirt and loose tie. Cole no longer looked like he’d rushed out of the locker room half-dressed. He looked ready to leave. He wouldn’t be at their table tonight or coming down the stairs tomorrow morning.
Charlotte would hear only that Cole had to leave. She would ask why he had to go and when he was coming home. Ford couldn’t answer either one.
Cole’s breathing had gone shallow. He looked stunned, like the news was moving faster than he could follow it. Ford had spent twelve years close enough to the NHL to believe the call might still come. It never had. Now his hip was failing, Halsey was in his net, and Cole was going to Chicago.
Heat climbed Ford’s neck. He hated himself for it. Cole had earned this, and Ford was standing there measuring it against everything he had lost.
Ford pushed himself out of the chair and crossed the small room.
“You’re going up.”
Cole nodded. His smile came slowly, then took over his whole face.
Ford pulled him in. Cole hit his chest hard enough to make Ford’s hip protest, but Ford tightened the embrace and took the pain. Cole buried his face against Ford’s shoulder and laughed once, breathless.
Cole had earned this. Ford wanted him to go up and make it impossible for Chicago to sit him.
When Cole drew back, the smile slipped. “Are you okay?”
Ford saw Cole register the pause. Another second and Cole would start making the call-up smaller for Ford’s sake. Ford wouldn’t let him do that.
“I’m proud of you,” Ford said.
Cole searched his face. Ford held the smile until Cole nodded.
“Come on,” Ford said. “We have to get you packed.”
The duffel lay open across their bed.
Cole had been moving through the house for twenty minutes and had accomplished almost nothing. Two shirts were on the bed. His dress shoes sat on the floor without socks. He’d taken a toiletry bag into the bathroom and left it on the counter empty.
Ford sat against the headboard and folded Cole’s undershirts into a stack.
“You need to leave,” he said.
“I’ve got time.”
“Chicago’s three hours away.”
Cole came out of the closet with three ties draped over his wrist. “Which one?”
Ford pointed at the green.
Cole dropped the other two on the chair and stood there looking at the bag.
“I thought I’d get the call when I was twenty-two,” he said. “Then twenty-four. After that, I quit thinking about it.”
