Page 32 of Home Ice

I’m heading for his parents’ place when an idea sneaks into my mind. Instead of taking the road toward town, I take a left and head for somewhere I still go, even years after he left.

There’s a dirt road that leads down to the river we used to hang out at during high school. We’d leave everyone else behind, take the whole day, no thinking, no stress, just the two of us existing. We’d live there over the summers, some days barely talking at all. We didn’t need to.

Hawke stirs as soon as we reach the dirt road, and I steer the car onto it.

His gaze bores into the side of my face, but I don’t meet it. “I haven’t been here in … so long.”

“I figured. Explains why you’re so high-strung these days.”

“Yeah, it’s that and not the way I found out my once best friend ghosted me over something huge and I have a son I knew nothing abou⁠—”

I grip the steering wheel one-handed and reach over to cover his mouth. “No more of that. What are our rules down here?”

His words are muffled by my hand, but I know what he’s saying. “Leave the worries behind.”

“Exactly.” I let him go. “Think you can do that? I don’t want you stinking up our special place with your whining.”

“I think I⁠—”

“Have reason to be whining. Yes. We both know you do. It sucks. But for while we’re down here, you’re going to let yourself forget about it for a while. The stress will be waiting for you once you get back.”

“That simple, huh?”

I know it’s not that simple, but we used to trick ourselves into believing it is. Sometimes our brains need a break from the piles of shit we’re dealing with to get the energy to keep fighting.

It’s not an automatic thing, but by the time we pull up in the dirt clearing at the end, Hawke’s let go of some of his tension.

He sits forward in his seat. “It’s changed.”

“It’s been ten years.”

Mostly, the biggest differences are that a lot of the dense overhang has been cleared out, letting more sun through, and there have been a few picnic benches set up amongst the trees. During holidays, it can get mildly busy down here, but usually, it’s just me.

I climb out of the car and pull myself up onto the hood, metal warm under my ass. After a moment of waiting, Hawke joins me.

He’s not sitting as close as he used to, mostly hugging the side, and I try not to let it get me down. He’s here, so he’s not holding things against me—at least I hope—and I take that for what it is.

Opportunity.

A chance to get him back.

A stale silence sets in before Hawke breaks it. He points at a patch of dandelions by the bank. “Remember when your dad used to have us wish on those?”

“I never wished on those.”

I almost expect him to smile, but he stops himself in time. “I did. Same thing, every time. To make it in hockey.”

“And you did.”

“I did.”

Maybe I should have been wishing on those things after all.

“Tell me about life as a big hockey star,” I say.

“I’m not a star.”

He makes me snort. “Please don’t pretend to be humble, Hawke. The media might buy it, but I know you better.”