Chapter 3 Silas
Chapter three
Silas
The roar of the crowd cuts out mid-chant.
For a second, I think I’ve gone deaf. Then I blink awake and realize the TV’s gone to sleep, screen black, my reflection staring back at me.
Neck kinked. Shoulder numb. Game remote still in my hand.
I push myself upright on my bed and jab the play button.
The screen flickers back to life.
There we are. Younger. Faster. The arena packed, a sea of jerseys and foam fingers. Felix’s hair is longer, flying as he streaks down the ice. Liam threads through defenders like they’re traffic cones. And I'm at the center, barking orders.
Score bug on the screen: 3–2. Final. Our win.
The night everything changed.
The camera cuts to us in a huddle at center ice, helmets off, grinning like idiots while the commentators scream about dynasties and legacies and “these three alphas have it all.”
Yeah. We really fucking didn’t.
My thumb tightens on the remote. The urge to throw it across the room is almost irresistible.
Instead, I hit pause. The picture freezes on my smiling face.
“Lucky bastard,” I tell past-me.
The only sound now is the wind moving through the pine trees outside. I tap my phone screen, and it shows 3:20 PM.
“Shit.” I scrub a hand down my face. I had not realized I dozed off for so long.
I shove off the bed and stand, my knees cracking in protest. Through the window, the mountain peaks glow in the fading light. It's so beautiful. Too bad the view doesn't match my mood…
Getting dressed takes thirty seconds. Jeans. Thermal. The hoodie I threw on the chair before collapsing into bed.
I head to the bathroom, and damn, these purple smudges under my eyes don't look good.
Cold water on my face. Towel. Doesn't help.
The hallway creaks under my weight as I head toward the kitchen, the boards warm from the hydronic heat under them.
I round the corner.
Felix is already there, leaning against the marble island. The fireplace in the great room behind him throws gold over his face, catching in his honey-brown hair. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a Lakeview Puckers hoodie with a stain on the front from last night’s chili.
“Look who’s alive,” he says, cradling a mug, his voice a little rough.
“Debatable.” I head for the coffeemaker. “Why aren’t you on the ice?”
"Why aren't you?" He emphasizes the last word. "I've been waiting here long enough to wonder if you were hibernating."
Despite myself, my mouth twitches. I can appreciate he's trying to lighten the mood, despite everything.
I reach for a clean mug and pour myself black coffee, no sugar. The first swallow burns all the way down. Good.
Footsteps behind me. Liam appears in the doorway, quiet as a ghost.
Dark jeans, navy sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His black hair's damp and clinging to his forehead, either from a shower or from sweating through his nap. Hard to say.
His eyes flick from me to Felix.
“Good nap?” Felix asks casually.
“Fine.” Liam moves past me to the cupboards and reaches for a mug.
He's lying. None of us sleep well this time of year. Haven't for the past two years.
Liam opens the canister and tips it, grounds falling into the filter.
“We’re almost out,” he says.
“So?” I take another swallow. "There's probably more in the pantry."
“Regardless, someone was supposed to do the groceries.” His gaze slides to me. “Two days ago.”
Right.
“How about we shoot for it?" I drain the rest of my coffee. "Loser goes.”
Felix sets his mug down a little too hard, ceramic clinking against stone. “Fine by me.”
Liam's expression shifts somewhere between amusement and challenge. "I guess I could use the warm-up."
* * *
The glass breezeway to our rink stretches out ahead.
Felix leads with that restless bounce in his stride like he’s already halfway through warm-ups in his head. Liam walks in the middle, hands in his pockets, gaze skimming the snow piled against the glass.
I bring up the rear, watching them both.
At the end of the breezeway, the double doors sit closed, the rink beyond them dark.
Felix reaches for the handle, pauses for a second like he’s bracing himself, then shoves one door open.
The lights roar on in segments, banks of LEDs humming to life overhead, and the rink comes alive. First the boards, then the glass, and finally the ice itself.
Home.