Chapter 36
BEN
I’ve just merged onto the highway, windshield wipers squeaking across a thin layer of snow, when my phone starts buzzing in the cup holder. The screen reads Elliot.
Sam’s mom.
I frown. She’s never called me before. Maybe she’s just checking in. Honestly, I’ve been thinking about Sam all week—ever since Maddy and I dropped him off last Friday. I’ve sent him a couple texts, even a few of my best memes. Nothing. Left on read.
Which, frankly, is rude. I have excellent meme taste.
I consider letting it ring through, calling her back once I get to the hotel, but something about it nags at me. Elliot never calls.
I tap the screen and switch to speaker. “Hey, Elliot. What’s—”
“Is Sam with you?”
My stomach drops at her panic-filled voice.
“No,” I say quickly, keeping my tone steady even though alarm is already unfurling in my chest. “He’s not. Why? What’s going on?”
“He wasn’t home when I got in from work,” she says, her voice tight with panic. “I checked with one of the neighbour kids—he didn’t get off the bus.”
“He didn’t have chess club today?”
“No,” she sniffs. “Fridays are always free. I thought maybe I’d just forgotten...that you two made plans or something, but—oh my God, Ben. Where is he?”
Where is he?
“Are you sure he went to school this morning?” I ask, already thinking ahead.
“Yes. I dropped him off myself.”
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. Okay, okay. Think.
“Alright,” I say, calm on the outside, ice-cold panic just under the surface. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to call the school. Do you have the number for his teacher? If not, I can get it from Maddy.”
“I have it.”
I flick my signal and pull off at the next exit, heart pounding. I’m only twenty minutes from the school. I can double back. There’s a bookstore with an excellent Fantasy section just down the street that Sam likes.
“Good. Call her. Make sure he was in class and that he stayed all day. I’m heading back toward the school now. I’ll check the bookstore and a few spots nearby. He couldn’t have gone far on foot.”
“What should I do after I call?” she asks, and there’s something small and cracked in her voice that nearly undoes me.
I take a breath, trying to find the gentlest way to say what needs to be said. “Sam mentioned you’ve got a close friend who’s a police officer?”
A soft whimper filters through the line. “Yes.”
“I think you should call her,” I say gently. “Just in case. She’ll know what to do.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to hang up so you can make those calls, alright?”
“Okay…Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for…thank you for being Sam’s friend.”
My throat tightens instantly, sealing off words I can’t afford to say. I force them through anyway. “Sam’s a great kid. He’s going to be okay. I know he is.”
We agree to keep each other updated, then I end the call. I press down a little harder on the gas pedal, eyes locked on the road ahead. The snow’s falling heavier now, gusting sideways in thick, icy flurries that smear across the windshield. Visibility’s dropping fast.
School. Bookstore. Mall. I run through the plan over and over in my head, trying not to get ahead of myself.
He’s somewhere nearby. He has to be.
I reach the school parking lot in record time, despite the worsening road conditions. I drive around the property, finding it deserted with the exception of a few cars left in the staff parking lot.
Next, I drive up the street to the bookstore. I put the car in park and am about to climb out when I spot a flyer for some kind of fundraiser in the store window.
Fuck. In my panic to look for Sam, I completely forgot about the Gala dress rehearsal I was on my way to. I grab my phone to call Maddy but find it has once again gone from mostly charged to completely dead.
“Motherfucker,” I grunt, digging through the glovebox trying to find a charge cord. I come up empty-handed and slam the drawer shut. “Okay,” I tell myself, trying to calm down. “Find Sam, then call Maddy.”
Sam isn’t at the bookstore.
I jog back to my car, my heart pounding harder now, not from the cold but from the weight pressing heavier on my chest. I climb in, slam the door shut against the wind, and sit for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel, trying to think.
The next stop is the mall—but as I’m about to shift into drive, I catch sight of a man and his son crossing the parking lot, skates slung over their shoulders as they head into a sporting goods store.
They're probably getting them sharpened.
And just like that, something clicks.
Sam mentioned a rink nearby—one he used to play at when he was younger. It’s barely more than a hunch, but it’s a hell of a lot more manageable than searching a packed mall three floors high and crawling with Friday night shoppers.
I take a sharp right out of the lot and head toward the arena.
The rink’s just as busy as I expected—this time of year, ice time is gold.
The parking lot is nearly full, and inside, the air is sharp with the familiar chill of cold concrete and the tang of skate wax.
A PeeWee practice is underway. Kids fly across the ice in a blur of jerseys and shouts, their sticks clacking against the boards.
Parents cluster along the glass, some pacing, others curled up in the stands beneath fleece blankets, coffee cups steaming in their gloved hands.
I scan the rows of seats quickly, eyes darting from face to face. And then—I see it.
That red beanie.
Far end of the rink. Slouched posture. Alone.
The relief that hits me is so sudden, so overwhelming, it nearly drops me to my knees. My breath catches in my throat, and I have to close my eyes for a second just to stay upright.
He’s safe.
I want to run to him, throw my arms around him, demand what the hell he was thinking—but I don’t. I force myself to walk, slow and steady, each step giving me time to calm down.
When he spots me coming up the stairs, he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wave. Doesn’t even look surprised. He just keeps sitting there, hunched slightly forward, eyes fixed on the ice like he’s trying to memorize the drills.
He looks so small in that oversized coat. So tired. And so incredibly sad.
My heart aches just looking at him. Whatever reason he had for coming here—whatever he’s been carrying—it weighs more than a missed text or a worried phone call.
I’m barely settled on the bench beside him when Sam speaks.
“It’s my fault he left.”
I thought my heart was hurting when I didn’t know where he was, but those five words have just shattered it. I’m not a violent person, but right now I would like nothing more than five minutes alone with his dad.
“I couldn’t skate backwards,” he continues.
“I tried. I did everything the coaches told me to, I just couldn’t.
It was like my body wouldn’t listen to my brain's commands. My coach tried to help me. Said it would come with time; just keep working on it. But my dad just wouldn’t let it go.
He was at every practice, watching me. Then we’d get in the car and he’d lecture me the whole way home.
I started hating going to practice. I’d get so nervous I’d throw up before every one.
When Mom told me I didn’t have to play anymore, I was so relieved.
After that, he didn’t really want anything to do with either of us.
They fought more and more. And then he left.
Sometimes…sometimes I think that if I could have just sucked it up…
tried harder. He might have stayed. My mom didn’t deserve what he did. ”
I rest my hand on his shoulder making him look up at me.
“Sam, your dad didn’t deserve you. Either of you.
Your parents are supposed to love you for who you are.
For everything you are. They’re not supposed to abandon you when you don’t turn out to be exactly what they wanted.
You didn’t fail as a son, he failed as a father.
And I’m sorry that you were left to pick up the pieces.
That’s not fair. But your mom gets you. She sees you and accepts you and loves you exactly as you are. And she’s really scared right now.”
“I didn’t mean to scare her. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. Let’s find a phone and let her know that you’re alright.”
The teenager working the canteen lets Sam use his cell to call his mom. In return, I pose for a selfie and sign a hockey stick for him.
We leave the rink and walk to my car. More snow has fallen and I start the engine before clearing off the windshield and windows. By the time I climb back in, Sam’s playing with the radio, seeming much more like himself.
“I think part of me always thought he’d come back someday,” Sam says when we’re not far from his house. “Not because I really wanted him to…but being a single parent is hard on my mom. When I saw him with the pregnant lady, I guess I realized he’s not coming back.”
I nod. “I get that.” I hold back that I think they’re both better off without him.
“I wish Mom could find a better job. It would help if my dad paid child support.” He shrugs when I raise my eyebrow at him. “I overheard her talking to her friend.”
“You need to stop eavesdropping, man.” I shake my head. “The Otters are looking for a new team physiotherapist. I’ll send your mom the details.”
“Yeah?” He looks so hopeful.
“Sure. And hey, who knows? If your mom starts to work for the team, we could hang out even more. Several times a week. You’ll be so sick of me, it will be awesome!”
Sam rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s fighting a grin.
It’s already dark by the time we pull into Sam’s driveway, the headlights cutting a path through the falling snow. Before I’ve even shifted the car into park, the front door bursts open.
Elliot races out in slippers and a wool cardigan, her face etched with relief. I haven’t even turned off the engine when Sam’s door flies open, and she meets him halfway, wrapping him in a hug so tight it looks like she might never let go.
“I was so worried,” she breathes into his hair. “I love you. Don’t ever do that again. I’m so glad you’re okay. You are in so much trouble. I love you.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Sam mumbles into her shoulder, and I can hear the guilt in his voice.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Her voice trembles as she adds, “Also, you’re grounded until you graduate high school.”
He manages a tired little laugh, and she pulls back just enough to look at him, hands on his shoulders like she’s checking to make sure he’s in one piece.
As they walk toward the front door, I follow behind, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets. Elliot turns to me, her eyes shining. “Thank you,” she says, her voice thick. “Thank you so much for finding him. I don’t know what I would’ve—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Just…thank you.”
She invites me to stay for dinner, but I shake my head. “I should get home,” I say gently. “But thank you.”
After I turn to leave, I feel a tug on my coat. I turn just as Sam collides with me, wrapping me in a tight hug that catches me completely off guard.
“I won’t get sick of you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
The lump in my throat comes fast and sharp. I hug him back, one hand steady on the back of his head.
“Likewise, little buddy,” I murmur. “Likewise.”