Page 112 of Home Ice

“Eh, I’m here now.” He heads in the same direction as Dad.

“He asked to come with me,” Hawke says. “I swear it.”

“Still … All these years, I’ve avoided people coming over, and now they’re here and seeing …” My shame? Our depression? The pit we buried ourselves in before we realized we’d have to claw our way back out again?

“No one’s judging you.”

“I’m judging me.”

“And that’s fine, but no one else is.”

I give his arm a tight squeeze. “I swear I’ll pay you back for this as soon as I can.”

“No.” Hawke’s heavy brow falls. “Don’t insult me.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then accept the help I should have been allowed to give you years ago.”

We stare each other down, but I give in first. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Nowhere near as much as you mean to me.”

Yeah … how the fuck am I supposed to say goodbye again?

Belli’s laugh catches my attention and drags it away from Hawke. It’s closely followed by Dad’s voice. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

I move closer to the doorway. “What’s ridiculous?”

Dad waves me away, not answering, so I turn to Belli instead.

“All I said”—she’s flipping through a stack of canvases—“is that I want him to paint something for the cafe.”

Dad makes a choking noise. “I can’t even paint properly when they give me lines to do it inside of.”

Belli sends a look back at him. “Then you get rid of the lines, Ben. Stop limiting yourself. I’m serious, I want you to do it.”

“But I’m not a painter.”

Hawke points at the canvases. “Those say otherwise.”

“They’re just … they’re paint by numbers. I can’t do anything like that myself.”

“I don’t want anything like this,” Belli clarifies. “I want something by you. Something you can do. I’ll pay you a fair price for it.”

“You’re not paying me for it.”

“You said the same about your shifts at the cafe, and how did that work out for you?”

Dad immediately backs off.

“Something small.” Belli goes back to the canvases. “Have a play and see what you come up with.”

“I want one too,” Hawke cuts in. “I have the perfect place at home for it.”

“Now you’re all pulling my leg.”

“I’m not,” Hawke throws back.