31. CONOR

CHAPTER 31

CONOR

A beam of light pierces through my eye, making me moan in protest. I turn my head away but it's just as bright on the other side. With herculean effort, I lift a hand to rub the sleep off my eyes.

When I open them again, I see the mound of my pillow half obscuring the alarm clock. It's about an hour later than I normally get up for, but that's when I remember that it's Christmas and my gift to myself is no training today. My other gift to myself is the date Sierra and I will have later today.

That's all the motivation I need to get up, shower and do my hair, and put on clothes that don't look like I coach kids's hockey or spend a good portion of my leisure time splitting wood. The date will be low key, just sledding down the hill by Main Street in the morning and drinking homemade hot chocolate, followed by Christmas mass with Sierra's family and then brunch. But I'm more excited than on the day I got drafted to the pros.

I guess I'm an old man now, when being with loved ones is more exciting than opening presents under the tree.

Said tree catches my attention on the way to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate. I can't quite pinpoint what about it made me pause, but it might be because I left my glasses in the bathroom. After retreating and putting them on, I march to my living room with purpose and stare at the tree again.

Same yay-high tree that I could put on a table because I don't really have enough footprint for the real deal—check. Same twinkling lights and hockey-themed ornaments—check. Two gift-looking things at the base, even though I definitely didn't put them there—also check.

One's a box with gold tissue paper and a red bow, jewelry size. The other one is a tube wrapped in the same colors, but opposite—red paper and golden bow. This smells of effort, and I wonder if it's from Sierra. But how did she even sneak them in? I haven't even thought of giving her a house key yet.

I take the box first and check the table, but there's no card under the things either. The mystery continues when I open it and find a nondescript key inside, also with no note.

Can't be Sierra's house key when she lives with her parents. Did she go ahead and rent an apartment in secret? But then, there would be a note.

Maybe it's in the other gift. This one's wrapped more painstakingly and it takes a longer moment to open. Inside, the tube is kind of like a case. I pull it open and find some papers rolled inside. But instead of an apartment rental contract, what I find is a property sale document.

For an ice rink.

"What?" I whisper in the quiet.

I blink hard, running my eyes across the words over and over until I'm sure that what I'm reading is right. That's Conrad Mahoney's name on the seller section, and Conor Mahoney on the buyer's, all right.

I rush out the door, halfway to my truck realizing that I didn't grab the car keys or a jacket. My breath blows plumes in the air as I run back into the house to grab my stuff and bundle up. I'm a ball of raw nerve as I drive through the country side, rows of snow capped pine trees flanking the road, a bright blue sky guiding me forward.

I don't think, I just drive straight into the parking lot of Conrad's Rink. I almost meet my maker when I slip on ice near the entrance, but the hockey thighs save me from that fate. I pump them hard as I run through the place, now clear of any vestiges of SPORTY 's party, stopping only outside the door to my grandfather's office.

"Come in, kid. I can hear you wheezing outside."

It occurs to me, hearing Gramps' voice from the other side of this door, that I didn't even contemplate the possibility that he might've been at home this morning—like everybody else. I open the door and stand still, opening and closing my mouth until I recover myself enough to talk.

"How can someone who loves this place enough to spend Christmas morning here, ever want to sell it and retire?"

Gramps snorts from his seat by the desk, fingers laced above his belly in the picture of serenity. "Maybe because, if you're the new owner, I can still come and go as I please without having any of the responsibility."

"Gramps—"

"No, I thought long and hard about this." He raises the palm of his knobby, wrinkly hand and it effectively shuts me up. "This is the way we both get what we want. I can finally retire and rest these old bones, you get to still use this place to pass on a legacy."

I swallow hard, trying to clear the lump that keeps growing in my throat but not quite succeeding. My voice comes out all garbled. "Stop making it sound like you're going to die tomorrow or something."

He shrugs as if this wasn't a big deal. "Probably not tomorrow but sooner than later, so stop looking like you're going to shit bricks. "

"I—" Shaking my head hard, I say, "Of course that terrifies me, but right now I have a different concern."

"What now?"

I shake the papers in the air. "Ever thought that I might not be able to afford this? That's why I worked so hard for the event, because the ten grand will ease things a bit but not enough. It's nowhere near enough to buy the whole damn place."

"But it could make a decent down payment for, you know, a loan." He opens his eyes in a way that is the purest definition of sarcasm. I'm not tight lipped about my finances with him, and he knows I have a near perfect credit score. A loan is definitely possible.

"Fine, say I get a loan and buy the place. Then what? I still have a full time job."

"But you'd have the best part-timer you could dream of. This guy," he says, pointing both thumbs at his chest.

My eyebrows shoot up. "What about retirement?"

"I did say I thought long and hard about this, didn't I? Full retirement, just wondering what I'm going to do with my day everyday, or doing the same thing Monday through Sunday, doesn't really suit me."

That sounds about right, and I bet the one person he'd turn all that free energy on would be me. That is a truly brick-shitting concept.

I'm sold—or I should say, I'll buy. I'm now so on board with this idea that if my body were to produce a single ounce more of adrenaline, I'd shoot through the roof. If today wasn't Christmas, I'd turn back around and march into the nearest bank to request a loan. But I guess that'll be my plan for the new year.

"Can you give me a discount?" I ask, tucking my tongue against my cheek .

"No. This is how you'll fund my extremely low wage as a part-timer."

I break into a grin. "Thanks, Gramps."

"Merry Christmas, kid." Grunting, he waves a hand for me to leave. "Now, go get your other present."

"Huh?"

"Just go." He purposely shifts his attention to some random paperwork, and I have no option but to walk away.

There are no other wrapped boxes or suspicious looking things lining the hallway, other than the same stains that have decorated the wall paint for at least a decade. I walk out to the corridor behind the seats, where a few days ago we had booths teeming with people. Once I'm the new owner of this place, we'll have more events like to bring in more income—anything I can think of to sustain the hockey program.

I keep walking to the entrance when a sound stops me in my tracks.

Someone's skating on the ice.

I'm pretty sure the place is closed to the public today, thus no one should be out there skating. I change direction to take the steps down to the ice, and I immediately recognize the skater.

"Sierra?"

She tries to brake but doesn't have the chops to do it properly, and she comes crashing down. Before I know it, I'm tossing the contract aside and my car keys, not even caring where they fall as I rush to the ice.

"Are you okay?" I ask as I walk on the ice in my street shoes, trying to reach her as fast as possible.

"Yeah." Her nose is wrinkled, eyes shut tight as she sits up straight. One of her hands reaches for her butt. "Fortunately, I have really good cushion."

"You really do. I like your cushion a lot," I say as I kneel in front of her. "Does it hurt too badly? "

She opens her eyes. "Yeah, it hurts a lot. Maybe you should give it a massage."

I sit back on my haunches, snorting. "Flirt."

"You like it." Sierra reaches for my hand. "Speaking of, wanna start flirting back now instead of later?"

"Is this your way of asking me out on a date, Sierra Fernandez?"

"Yes." She nods solemnly. "Do you accept?"

"I do. But first, let's get you back on your feet." I reach for her.