Chapter 15
Suprise
Lenzin
Practice is noise and motion and rules I understand. It makes sense in a way feelings don’t.
Lines. Drills. Whistles. Repetition. If you do the work, the outcome is rarely a surprise.
I feel torn for the first time between this thing that has saved me from feeling trapped in a life I didn’t choose, and for the first time, feeling that my life after hockey may actually be better than I could have imagined.
I’m confident, this thing beating in my chest, the heightened alertness I feel in every cell of my body, and the energy surrounding me. It is more than a birthright, more than hockey.
This change has been here, in a way, for a few months.
The idea of having children changed from something I was adamantly against to something I realized I might be missing when Savannah came into all of our lives, and that changed even more with Lucy.
Although I suspect it has a lot to do with her sister too, not that she wouldn’t have made me want nothing but the best of the best for her, and assisted in whatever capacity I could, but in all honesty, I’d never had been in a situation where I noticed.
I’m fully aware what a selfish ass that makes me sound. I won’t rebuke it if called out. I’ve lived inside a tunnel my whole life, avoiding the inevitable responsibilities that will come after hockey is no longer my life. It is what it is.
Aleks skates up to me and grabs a bottle of water, “You were early today.”
“I’m always early.”
“Earlier,” he corrects. “Like, avoiding home early.”
I take a long drink and keep my eyes forward. “Efficiency is not a crime.”
“It is when you look smug about it.”
I ignore that. Stretch my neck. He waits. Aleks is very patient when he thinks he’s onto something.
“So,” he says casually. “How are things at the house?”
“Functional.”
“That is not an answer,” he snaps.
“It is absolutely an answer.”
He quirks a brow. “Lucy still sick?”
“Fever’s holding,” I say wondering but not asking how he knows. The answer is simple, the girls talk, and Hildy is now one of them, “but it’s being managed.”
“And Hildy?”
There it is. I tighten the cap on my bottle. “She’s the management.”
Aleks squints at me for a beat too long. “You have never once described a woman as management, unless you’re evading.”
“I am not evading; I’m conserving the energy.”
He laughs, low and annoyed. “You rearranged your entire morning schedule. Hank said you bailed on lifting and—”
“Hank talks too much.”
“He does,” Aleks concedes. “But he’s usually right. So, what about your visitor, your fiancée?”
The whistle pierces the air, perfectly timed. “She’s not my fiancée anymore.”
I push off, skating to the far side of the rink, deliberately avoiding Aleks as the drills resume. My body glides on instinct, moving fluidly as it has since childhood. There’s a comfort in that. No deliberation. No analysis. Just speed, angles, and muscle memory.
Aleks maneuvers closer through the rotations, annoyingly persistent.
After a sharp stop, he leans in again. “Don’t do something reckless and ruin this for them.”
“Mind your own business.”
“The kid—”
“Lucy,” I snap, irritation flaring.
“Faulker, you are—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s your damn name.”
Unable to counter that, I skate away, focusing on the next drill. More laps. My legs burn, and that’s good. Pain is an honest reminder life is real. Also, honest is the fact that Aleks is a pain in my ass.
The truth is, if I owed anyone anything, it would be him.
After Anna, of course. Aleks sees through my walls without needing any translation.
He knows that when I retreat into myself, it’s because I’m grappling with something.
He’s my best friend, a constant presence in my life, almost like fate itself placed him there.
But this isn’t something I can lay at his feet just yet.
It’s not a riddle to solve or a burden to share over cheap coffee and sarcasm.
This is a life. And it’s not mine alone.
As we exit the ice and head into the locker room, Aleks lowers his voice. “Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you happy?”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t ask me that here.”
“Are you scared?” That hits too close to home.
“I’m busy.” I deflect instead.
He studies me, eyes narrowing. “Something’s going on.”
I pause at my locker, next to his, and quietly admit what I can. “Then something is going on.”
What I don’t say is that I want to unpack it all. That I recognized her from before. That she’s pregnant and incredible. That there’s already a calendar filled with our names, Lucy’s nestled securely between us, safeguarded from both ends.
But that conversation doesn’t belong in the locker room, on the ice, or even with Aleks.
Not yet. First, it’s at the kitchen island.
With Hildy. With the door closed, and tea cooling between us as we navigate what this means—not just for us, but for Lucy, for Hank, for Anna, for the unexpected little family that has formed without consent.
“I’m not asking you to fix it,” he states.
“Good, because nothing is broken.”
“Lenzin,” he says softly, his tone carrying more weight than I’ve ever heard from him.
“I promise, you’ll be the first to know when I can.”
I drop my keys in their usual spot and pause, listening.
No Lucy greeting me with the story of her day as I had anticipated.
No Hildy waiting for me, ready to share the tangled emotions I’d let myself romanticize.
Instead, the sound of running water fills the air, punctuated by the clinking of dishes.
I set down my bag, shrug off my coat, and kick off my boots before rounding the corner, only to freeze in surprise.
Anneliese stands at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hair twisted into a messy bun, a dish towel casually draped over one shoulder. She looks like she’s been doing this forever, not like it’s a sign of the apocalypse, which is the only reasonable explanation.
She glances back at me, her eyes rolling when she sees my shock. lighting up with a smile. “Oh good, you’re home. How do I run this dishwasher?”
I blink at her. “Why are you doing the dishes?”
She frowns slightly. “Because there are dishes to be done.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
With a casual shrug, she gestures with the sponge. “Your house is full of sick people. Someone had to step up.”
“Sick people?” I echo, confusion creeping in.
She waves the sponge dismissively. “Lucy spiked again after lunch. Broke a little while ago, but now Hildy’s not feeling well either.”
“Where are they?”
“Bed,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Both of them.”
I’m already moving. Lucy’s door is ajar, and a faint scent of menthol and honey wafts through, mingling with that unmistakable warmth of fever that twists something primal in my gut.
Lucy lies sprawled sideways on the bed, her cheeks flushed and hair damp at her temples.
She’s deep in sleep, clutching the edge of Hildy’s shirt as if it were a lifeline.
Hildy is curled protectively around her, her back turned to me, one arm draped over Lucy and the other tucked beneath her chin. Her skin looks too pink.
I cross the room quietly, pressing my fingers to Hildy’s forehead. She’s quite warm.
She stirs at my touch, her lashes fluttering open.
“Hey,” I murmur softly.
“Shouldn’t be in here,” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll get sick.”
Lucy shifts slightly, making a small, unhappy sound, and Hildy instinctively tightens her hold on her, even in her half-asleep state.
“I’m okay,” Hildy insists, her tone apologetic, as if her presence is a burden. “She needs me here and—”
“You don’t need to justify that,” I interject gently.
She exhales, a slight wince crossing her face. I retrieve the thermometer from the bedside table, and Hildy watches me, her eyes unfocused as I wait for the beep.
“100.8,” I announce. Not dangerously high, but concerning, nonetheless. “You have a fever.”
She lets out a sigh. “I thought I was just tired.”
I adjust the blanket higher around them, tucking Lucy’s socked feet in snugly, ensuring they’re warm but not trapped. Hildy watches my hands intently, as if trying to memorize the moment.
“You should be in your own bed,” I suggest softly.
“And leave her?” she asks, suddenly more alert.
“No, she comes with you. Your bed is bigger,” I reply.
Her shoulders relax at that. “Okay.”
She’s drained, and I can see it in the way her shoulders sag, in how she clutches the stuffed bunny and the axolotl without a word of protest, allowing me to take on Lucy’s weight. Once we settle them into Hildy’s bedroom, I head back to Lucy’s and grab the humidifier and set it up.
I brush a damp strand of hair from Lucy’s forehead, then do the same for Hildy, my fingers moving instinctively. She doesn’t flinch or pull away.
“I’ll grab you both fresh cups. Hydration is key,” I say softly, stepping back and easing the door nearly shut behind me.
In the hallway, Anneliese waits, arms crossed, the dish towel forgotten at her side. “She hates asking for help,” she remarks, her tone knowing.
“I know.”
“And even while sick, she won’t stop caring for Lucy.”
“I know.”
Anneliese studies my face, her expression shifting. “You look like you want to fight God.”
“More like beg,” I reply, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “You’re invested.”
“I’m aware,” I say flatly.
Her head tilts slightly. “Her fever is mild. She thought you’d be angry.”
I blink, surprised. “She said that?”
“She did,” Anneliese confirms, and I exhale slowly, tension unwinding as I ponder why Hildy would worry about my anger.
“Thank you, Anna. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “I’m many things, but useless isn’t one of them. The soup is ready. Tea is steeping. And your immune boosters are non-negotiable.”
I huff a laugh despite myself.