Page 19 of Home Ice

I take an angry bite of my breakfast sandwich, hating that he’s right.

“He’s at the rink, if you’re looking for him.”

I swallow the bite and frown. “What’s he doing there?”

“Working his … second? Third job?”

The fuck?

Ben knocks on the table with his stiff hand. “Strokes aren’t cheap. Try not to have one if you can manage it.” The humor in his tone stays with me after he leaves and rejoins the group in activewear, but I’m stuck replaying his words over.

Strokes aren’t cheap.

Second … third job.

My heart rate kicks up as pieces click into place.

That need to cry sweeps over me again.

I squash it.

And try to focus on swallowing as I smash down my food and coffee, struggling to work out what to do next.

Chapter Six

TAI

“When did he have the stroke?”

The words echo through the training rink, where I have ten seven-year-olds stiffly trying to skate and control a puck at the same time. I look away from them, toward the entrance to the ice, and almost slip over myself at the sight of Hawke filling the space.

A few of the parents watching from the low stands glance our way.

“Will you be okay for a second?” I ask Elise. She’s worked here every summer since she was old enough in high school, and now that it’s her final year of college, this will probably be her last stint here, so I know she’s more than capable.

“Yeah, I’ve got them.”

I leave the group and skate over to where Hawke’s waiting, pretending not to notice the way he watches me approach. It’s clear he’s had a rough night by his bloodshot eyes and the way his wavy hair is sticking up on one side. Before I can get a word out, he makes it clear he isn’t going to accept anything but the truth.

“It was ten years ago, wasn’t it?”

There’s a long moment where I question whether it’s actually worth having this conversation. The distance between us is irreparable at this point, so it’s not like it would magically take us back there.

But …

If I have even the smallest chance to try and have some kind of friendship with him moving forward, I want it more than I probably should.

“The day after graduation,” I finally tell him. It was the day before we were due to fly out, and I spent the entire time worried about Dad and what was next to bother checking my phone.

At that point, hockey and everything else didn’t feel very important.

My team were great with the way they handled it, with delaying my start to see how things would progress with Dad, but no matter how much we both hoped for it to be good news, it wasn’t.

There were so many appointments and even more bills. I took any job that paid money and reached a point where the NHL felt like a dream. Something that wasn’t real and never would be.

I was bitter and depressed and hated that I couldn’t even talk about what happened to Dad without it sounding like I was blaming him, so I didn’t do it at all.

None of it was his fault. I knew it wasn’t.