Page 62 of Home Ice

“Yes.” It’s so fucking hard to say, considering how resistant Kasen has been so far. This could easily backfire, and then what the fuck would I do? Because I have no plans to back off. “You’ve already told me to fuck off, and maybe that’s what you want, but you should know what I want first. And that’s a chance to get to know you.”

“I’m an asshole. There. You already know everything about me.”

“I’m told you’re really smart.”

He scowls. “Coach Barrett tell you that?”

“Only because you wouldn’t. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“And if I tell you to fuck off, you’ll go?”

I bite down hard on the insides of my cheeks. “No.”

“But—”

“I said you can push me out of your life, not that I’ll walk away willingly. You want me gone? You’re going to have to make me leave.”

He glares, gaze boring into mine, but I don’t look away. I’m fucking serious about this. We might never have had a civil conversation yet, but there have been glimpses of something that tell me we could have that. One day.

Kasen tugs his helmet back on. “I need a lift home after this.”

Then he skates off, and I almost feel like I’ve won something.

Chapter Twenty

TAI

Iwatch Hawke and Kasen drive away together before I return to the rink to pack away all my gear. The staff here are great and let me use one of the storage rooms for the bulkier items, but my sticks, skates, and change of clothes are something I take with me every day.

Call it needlessly pedantic, call it superstitious, whatever works. It just doesn’t feel right to leave any of it behind.

Having Hawke with me all day has gone a long way toward distracting me from Dad and his big plans. The whole way home, my anxiety over talking to him about it amps up, and I almost wish that Hawke needed a lift again today so that I could put off the moment for as long as possible. I want to talk to him, but I don’t know the best way about it, and if I think about how I’d prefer to be spending the afternoon—it’s with Hawke.

But he has his own shit, and I have mine.

He’s not the person I can lean on for everything anymore, and I like being self-sufficient, but damn, his hug healed something inside me earlier. I know I need to balance out this craving for everything Hawke and remember that the only person I can really rely on is myself, but it’s been so long since I had anyone in my corner.

It’s one thing to talk to my colleagues and the friends I see every other week; it’s another for me to break down my feelings and be vulnerable with someone. I haven’t done that in a long time. Not with someone who doesn’t tell me everything will be okay, with no way of knowing that’s the case. Not with someone who knows that sometimes words won’t cut it, and I need the safety of arms instead.

I used to have Dad and Hawke I could go to.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve had anyone.

I pull up in our driveway, ignoring the peeling paint and the missing fence panels, and head inside. I’m immediately met with a pile of shoes near the front door, a haphazard stack of boxes that I’ve completely forgotten what’s inside, and a dusty hall table covered in letters, keys, tools, and coins.

Normally, it’s easier to shut off to the mess and pretend like I don’t feel as though I’m drowning in it, but as I stand there and look around, I’m hit with that same feeling I had in my room: shame.

How the fuck have we let it get this bad?

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them loose. This is our lives, and Dad and I are doing fan-fucking-tastic, considering what we’ve been through. So the place is a bit … messy. And doesn’t give me room to think or feel or breathe.

We’ll get there. We always do.

“Dad?”

“Through here.”

I follow the sound of his voice, past where the baseball is playing on the TV and into the kitchen. He’s wearing an apron I didn’t even know we had and turning on the gas burner. My panic immediately jacks up high, and I have to wrestle it down again.