Page 102 of Jack

Instinct had Jack standing up straight. “Coach.”

A blink and then, “Jack Kingston?”

“Sir.” He held out his hand. Garrett met it, grip firm.

“It’s been, what, maybe fifteen years? What brings you to my doorstep?”

“I’m back for my sister’s wedding, and . . . well, I’m trying to track down someone who might have done a little damage to my wheels.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Steinbeck had walked up behind Jack. Garrett looked at him. “Steinbeck, right?”

“Sir. Good to see you. I served with your son, Fraser.” He held out his hand.

“I heard that, I think. He’s separated from the Navy.”

“Me too.” Steinbeck didn’t add on anything, so maybe he wanted that part of his life locked down.

Garrett Marshall glanced at Jack. “Jack, I’m going to need your promise that when you find these guys, you’ll call the cops, not try and take anything into your own hands.”

Right. “I’ve grown up a little bit since my hockey days.”

Garrett said nothing.

Jack held up a hand. “I just want to see if he might have any insurance information for me. He drove away before we could exchange information.”

Steinbeck gave him a look, but he didn’t meet it.

“Come in, boys.” Garrett opened the door, and Jack stepped in, followed by Stein. The smell of something baking filled the house, grabbed Jack’s stomach.

“How can I help?” Garrett said.

“He had a North Star Arena sticker on his car, and I wasn’t sure if you were still coaching?—”

“Not anymore.” Garrett sighed. “These bones are too old. But . . . I do run the Zamboni, and I’m familiar with the teams and the rosters.”

“His name is Elton. But he also had a buddy with him named Job. We’re not sure whose car it might be.”

“Elton Bridges and Job Ramsey.”

Just like that.

“Elton played until he was a senior. Defenseman. Job was a winger. If I remember right, Job got hurt, dropped out his sophomore year. Elton was hoping for a scholarship to the U, but I don’t think he made it.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Jack was turning to go when Garrett put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you back here. Let me know if you ever want to slap around a puck.”

He laughed. “Yeah, Doyle was talking about clearing the ice back home, maybe having a game of broomball.”

“How is he?” Garrett’s voice softened.

“He’s . . . I think he’s better.” But he wouldn’t really know, would he? A hand reached in, clenched his gut.

He really didn’t know any of his siblings. Not anymore.

I work alone.He pushed the rule from his head and met Garrett’s outstretched hand.

“Not everyone is raised a Boy Scout, Jack. Go easy.” He winked at Jack, then shook Stein’s hand.