Chapter 90

He hears footsteps behind him and then the coach is there, sliding into the seat beside Ryan’s chair. Dante’s seat. Running a shaky hand through his thinning hair, the coach sighs and doesn’t quite look at him as he smiles a little too brightly. “How’s it going, Talon?”

“Better,” Ryan admits. He busies himself with the straps on his backpack because he doesn’t like the nervous tremble that runs through the man next to him, a quiver just beneath his skin that hints at a breaking point. “I’m doing a lot better.”

“Good, good.” The coach nods, yes, that’s good. Searching for something more to say, he tries, “The web site looks good.” He nods again, stares out over the ice at the players below, and his voice grows distant. “Real good.”

Trepidatiously, Ryan asks, “The team’s not doing so hot, is it?”