Chapter 19
I look down at my phone for the third time. It’s been forty-five minutes and still no Erin. She was supposed to have finished work by now.
I thought when I walked away from her the other night, after letting her know I was going to kiss her soon, she’d retreat into her shell.
I was prepared to take my time coaxing her out of it, but to my surprise, she texted and asked if I wanted to grab dinner after she finished work, and I’ll never say no to my favorite girl.
Erin’s voice continues to echo in my head.
You’ll be my first.
Her words aren’t just confirmation that no man has ever touched her, but that she wants me to be the first. I bet she doesn’t even realize I intend to be her first—and the last. I can’t seem to think of anything else other than every time I have her, it’ll be a brand-new experience.
Her confession was honest and raw. I could tell by the way her eyes flitted back and forth that they weren’t easy words to give to me.
I’ve realized it’s not uncommon for Erin to struggle with communication, especially where her feelings for me are concerned, but something about that night felt a little different to the other ones we’ve spent together. And I’m determined more than ever to pull more sweet confessions from her.
Sometimes, I swear I can hear the buzzers going off in her head, warning her to retreat, which makes me wonder if her pulling away is more about her than me.
I want to bring it up to her, but I don’t want to spook her by mentioning it if she’s not ready to talk about it. I know she knows she can come to me about anything—and she has. So, I’m happy waiting until she’s comfortable enough to be vulnerable about it.
The elevator doors ding, and a flood of people rush out. Erin’s small body is the last one through. Her tiny frame lurches in my direction, eyes dull, as if she could close them anywhere and fall asleep on command.
I want to be her safe place to land. The need to haul her into my arms, lull her to sleep, and cocoon her from the weight she’s carrying pulls at me. I want to make the world stop, give her a moment of peace, and protect her from anything that could take it away.
“You waited,” she says when she reaches me.
“Of course.” I take her bag from her.
“Come on,” she says, perking up. “We’re already running behind schedule.”
The street buzzes with people and cars, eager to get home after a long day of working when we exit her building.
“I’m sure I can convince the restaurant to find us another table if they’ve given the one you booked away. You didn’t say where you booked.”
“I didn’t. I was thinking we could grab tacos from Tuck’s Taco Truck, but later. We have somewhere to be first,” she clarifies just as a cab pulls up to the curb and comes to a stop.
“And where exactly are we going?” I ask her.
“Your birthday present is ready,” she says, and slides into the backseat when I open the door for her.
“Ah, I forgot about that.”
I pull her hand into my lap and trace the lines on her palm with my index finger as the car hums down the street and weaves through traffic.
Erin stares down at our connected hands and just watches me. For a moment, I contemplate drawing letters with my fingers to tell her how much I want her, but the car stops before I get my chance.
“The stadium’s closed, Erin. They’re relaying the ice and getting it ready for the preseason,” I say as we pull up to it.
“I know. Come on,” she says, grabbing the door handle and pushing.
I take off my jacket the second the cold air nips at us and drape it over her shoulders as she walks in front of me.
My breath stutters as she feeds her arms through the sleeves. The sight of her in something that belongs to me makes it hard for me to think straight. It’s not quite my name on her back, but seeing how my jacket swallows her up, that has me eager to see her in nothing else but that.
Inside the stadium, there’s a man at the end of the corridor talking to Coach Avery. He winks at Erin before he disappears, leaving us standing alone with a man I’ve never met. He seems to be in his fifties, wearing a gray polo, black trousers, and a Tornadoes cap.
“Chase, this is Robert,” Erin says.
“Mr. Harper. Big fan.” I shake his hand and thank him. “Gang’s all here. Ready when you are, kid.”
“Gang?” I repeat.
Erin gestures for me to follow her. We walk ahead, and then I see them—Coach Avery, the general manager, Mark, my entire team as well as Valerie and Briar are all huddled together. Brodie, Bella, Brax, and Roman are standing beside them all, talking to one another.
“What’s going on? I didn’t realize Brodie and Bella were back in town.” My brows pull together as I look at Erin, who’s already moving to the boards.
“You’ll see,” is all she says as she steps onto the ice. I fall in step with her to make sure that she doesn’t slip and fall.
Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt.
Roman launches himself at Erin when he sees her and starts talking about the books she gave to him.
Brax watches them in quiet regard, most likely thankful his son hasn’t tried to knock him out on the ice with one of his many wrestling moves.
Robert takes off his cap and glances around.
“In the ten years I have worked here as the lead ice technician, not once has anyone messed up. So do me proud, boys, or I’m holding that little lady responsible for swapping out my usual crew for a bunch of hockey players.” He winks, gesturing to Erin.
A few men move onto the ice, getting in position to help reveal our new Flying Tornadoes logo in the center of the rink.
The different shades of blue and gray pop against the freshly painted frozen surface. The air catches in my lungs when the outline of words around the outside of our logo is revealed.
62 - ON THE ICE AND IN OUR HEARTS ALWAYS - JACK HENDERSON
The words blur, the paint glistening against the smooth ice as time stands still. Claps echo around me, but they’re distant and muffled as if happening in another world and not beside me.
Erin comes to a stop in front of me. She presses a brush into my palm and closes my fingers around it. The weight of it sinks in—just like the ache inside of me.
“Happy birthday, Chase,” she whispers before pulling away and settling beside Brodie and Roman.
I let out a breath and kneel with the brush in my hand. The cool chill of the ice sinks into my bones. My fingers tremble—not from the cold, but from the importance of what I’m doing. My gaze locks on Jack’s number—62.
A familiar tightness zips through me. It isn’t just a number. It’s the place where it all fell apart.
Where I lost him.
I dip the brush into the deep blue paint, and the bristles make a subtle, wet sound as they touch the surface. The ice is so smooth that the brush glides easily over the cold sheet.
The first brushstroke feels as though I’m painting all the grief and self-blame I’ve carried for months for the world to see.
The second is like rewriting what happened.
The third is a promise I’m making to Jack.
I follow the lines, careful not to make a mistake.
Then, Roman’s laugh buzzes through.
My head lifts, he’s holding a paintbrush near Erin’s cheek.
The blue paint pops against her skin, and there’s a quiet brightness in the way her lips tip up that seems to reach straight into me.
Her eyes flit to mine, and her expression falters, as if she’s been watching me for hours without me noticing—and now I have.
Her eyes are tender, her gaze flicking between my painted section and me, understanding this isn’t just about the ice, paint, or the game. It’s about honoring a life that was cut too short.
A life I still can’t quite believe is gone.
I look back down at the number in front of me. There’s only a small area left. I glide the brush smoothly over the spot. The white ice disappears above the paint.
I stand and step back, taking it in.
Jack’s here. He’s with me, in this place, on this ice. And it’s as if the rink itself is holding him.
Holding us.
I let out a shaky breath.
This is for Jack. For the guy who was always there and always had my back. For the brother I never got to say goodbye to.
This moment… It’s everything I needed. Instead of finding blood smeared all over the ice, I see those four letters—JACK.
I drop to my knees near the logo, my hands pressing against the cold surface, my grief dripping down my cheeks.
She took an awful moment and turned it into a beautiful emblem. The center ice—the place Jack was found lifeless and bleeding because of my brother—has haunted me but is now sacred ground.
“I love you, buddy,” I choke out in a whisper. “I miss you so much, and I promise I’ll make you proud every time I’m out here. I’ll hold that cup up for both of us. And when I’m done playing, I’ll build you that hockey team, too. I fucking swear it.”
A hand lands on the back of my neck. One I haven’t felt in a long time but know immediately who it belongs to before I turn around and take in the Hendersons.
Mrs. Henderson’s eyes glisten with unsaid words as she opens her arms wide.
I waste no time throwing myself into her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Language,” she scolds as she holds me close to her. Mr. Henderson wraps his arms around the both of us next.
“It’s alright, son. It’s alright. Let it out now.” His voice is composed, but I recognize the raw emotion underneath his attempt at strength. That’s all it takes for the dam to explode. For the pain from the recent past to rip through me.
I let it all out.
The next thing I know, I’m cocooned by multiple people. Love blankets my body as arms embrace me, and right here, with my entire team standing with me, I’ve never felt safer.
The walk to Bakes by the Lakes is oddly peaceful. I find myself walking in step with Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, my thoughts drifting as they catch me up on the latest.