Chapter 22

Ryan nods at the ice, now empty and smooth, the hockey players gone and the skate club not yet arrived. “You’re losing practice time,” he says.

“I know.” Dante stands and stretches, then gathers up his jacket, his sweatshirt, and a duffle bag that’s hidden beneath his seat. Looking down at Ryan, he asks, “You’re going to be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. He has nothing else planned and already he can’t wait to see Dante again. He’s going to dream of him tonight, he knows it, and during his therapy session, he’ll focus on his friend’s face just to chase away the pain. “I’ll be here. You?”

“Yeah—no, wait.” Dante frowns and digs in his pocket, pulls out a handful of crumpled dollar bills, and starts to count them out. “Damn,” he murmurs. “Not tomorrow. I only have eight dollars.”

Ryan doesn’t get it. “For what?”

“It’s fifteen to skate for club members,” Dante tells him. Shoving the money back into his pocket, he shrugs and asks, “Maybe Friday? I get paid tomorrow.”