Chapter 20 - Mason
Mason
We didn’t leave until morning. The road out of San Antonio blurred into open fields and winding backroads. By the time we hit Fredericksburg, the sun was high and hot against the windshield of my Neon.
“Okay, you were right,” Cass said. “This bucket of bolts is good for a road trip.”
She rode with her knees up, one foot on the dash for most of the way, her sunglasses sliding low as she leaned back and took in the endless stretch of sky.
“Told you.”
I tried to keep some levity in my tone, but my stomach was in knots. I hadn’t been home in months, and never in a million years thought it’d be under these circumstances.
We didn’t have time to go in at the house, just swapped the Neon for my dad’s old truck. Hallie was already waiting, still in her work shirt from the feed store, hair in a messy braid.
“Whoa,” she said when she saw Cass. “I didn’t know we could bring a friend.”
“Hey, Hallie.”
My sister didn’t flinch. “You are friends, aren’t you? Or is it more than that?”
“Jesus, Hal.”
“What?” She looked at me innocently. “You don’t bring girls home, so forgive me for being a little… intrigued. So, are you dating or not?”
“No,” Cass and I said in unison.
Hallie narrowed her eyes, not buying it for a second. “How do you know each other then?”
“Work,” I replied. “You know she works at the arena.”
Hallie flashed a ruthless grin. “Do you wish you were dating?”
“Okay, let’s go. We’re going to be late.” I steered Cass toward the truck while Hallie cackled behind us.
Dad didn’t say much, as usual, and played it cool the way he always did when emotions ran high. But I noticed the way he adjusted the air vents so Cass wouldn’t get too warm, or the subtle nod he gave me when she climbed into the truck, like silent approval of whatever this was.
Cass and I sat in the back, and Hallie took the front. The road stretched quiet ahead, live oaks blurring past the windows.
“You okay?” Cass asked, her voice soft.
I didn’t answer right away. The lump in my throat hadn’t moved since I woke up. She didn’t push. Just slipped her hand into mine, gave it a squeeze, and let it rest there. Platonically.
The cemetery was sunbaked and quiet. Coach Landry’s casket sat beneath a makeshift canopy, a handful of folding chairs lined up beneath it. We stood behind the crowd, hands tucked in pockets, the occasional breeze kicking up dust from the gravel path.
I couldn’t help thinking how this was what it all came to—my early years with hockey. Dead and buried with my first coach, the first person to believe in my dream more than I did.
“I’m real sorry for your loss, Mrs. Landry,” I said after the final prayer. Everyone was turning back to go to their cars, and several familiar faces from school jumped out at me. I was in no hurry to catch up with them.
Mrs. Landry smiled through fresh tears. She looked older than I remembered. Smaller, somehow.
She took my hand in both of hers. “He was so proud of you, Mason. Caught every game and kept your rookie card in his wallet.”
My throat burned. “He’s the reason I got to where I am.”
On the way back to the truck, someone called out to me, making me turn back around. Luke Merrimack. Center of our high school line. He’d filled out, dress shirt clinging to him in the heat.
“Well, damn,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you back here. Don’t the Surge have a game tonight?”
“Yeah, but… it’s Coach,” I said simply, glancing toward the grave.
He nodded. “Yeah. I guess even big shots make time for that.”
His tone was casual, but I felt the meaning hidden in his innocent statement. I used to skate with this guy on Saturdays until the lights shut off. Now he looked at me like I was some far-off version of the kid he used to know. Like I’d turned into something else.
“How’s it feel?” He left that there, didn’t specify or clarify.
“How does what feel?”
He scoffed. “They’re talking about you like you’re the next big thing in hockey. I don’t know whether they’re right or not. Never seen a game.”
Of course he had to slide that in there. Make sure I knew he couldn’t give two shits about my game either way. It was weird. I didn’t remember Luke to be a giant dickhead.
I didn’t remember the rest of the conversation with Luke. I just said whatever sounded right until he walked away.
“Back to the house?” My dad asked when I got back to the truck where they waited.
I looked around, saw the guys I used to hang with filing into pickups. They’d probably all be at the Landry house to pay last respects, which meant I’d likely go through similar conversations like the one I had with Luke just now.
“Let’s head home,” I said, climbing into the back of the truck after Cass.
Thankfully, the drive back was comfortably quiet, with even Hallie giving the moment the space it deserved.
The world was one amazing coach poorer, and I still couldn’t make heads or tails of this unsettled feeling twisting my insides.
It was as if coming face-to-face with my past in the midst of tragedy made the future I was hurtling toward look a lot harder around the edges.
Back then, it was the game and nothing else. Good, clean, fun.
“Wow, this is… interesting.” Cass’ eyes went wide when she walked into my bedroom, scanning every inch of the walls, nooks, crannies. Every detail told a story and she was hungry for it. “Didn’t take you for the shrine type.”
“I love hockey,” I shrugged, and sagged down onto my childhood bed. The covers were a faded tribute to the 2005 Dallas Stars roster, with Modano’s face staring back at me from the pillowcase.
“Feels like I’ve time-traveled into a hockey-obsessed middle schooler’s wet dream.”
“You’re not too far off the mark,” I said with a laugh, and she joined in, coming to sit beside me.
For a while, we didn’t talk. Just sat there, side by side on my creaky single bed. Her fingers brushed the edge of an old Marty Turco poster tacked to the wall.
“You really were all in, huh?”
“Still am,” I replied.
I turned my head and found her watching me. Not judging or teasing, but actually seeing me.
“Cass…” Her gaze stayed on mine. “Thanks for being here. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this on my own.”
She gave a small, sad smile. “You’re not on your own. You have your dad and Hallie.”
“You know what I mean. Having you here… it’s what I needed.”
The words came out quiet. Barely there. But I saw the way they hit her, the way her expression softened.
She reached up and touched my cheek. Her fingers were cool. Gentle. Like she was trying to press comfort right into my skin.
I covered her hand with my own, and leaned in. I wasn’t planning it. I’d meant what I said about this being a platonic trip.
But she met me halfway.
It was a soft kiss, slower than I expected. No heat, no rush. Nothing but a quiet ache pressed between us, and Cass soothing it with her lips, her tongue. Just what I needed.
I whispered her name again, but whatever I was about to say fell flat when my bedroom door creaked open. We jumped apart, staring at Hallie in my doorway.
“Hey, just friends,” she said with a wry smile. “Dad said to call you guys down for dinner. Or should I tell him you’re busy?”
I grabbed the pillow from my bed and tossed it at her hard. But her reflexes were too sharp and it went bouncing around the hallway instead, her laughter floating down the stairs.
Later that night, the four of us gathered around the living room TV with popcorn and beer. Cass kept checking on me, and it was getting harder and harder to tell her I was fine missing the game.
I wasn’t anywhere close to fine.
Grayson was off without me. I could see it right away.
He missed two clean setups in the first period alone, both times looking for a pass that never came. Without me to cycle back on the right, he kept getting trapped along the boards, forcing turnovers.
“His timing’s off tonight,” my dad said, taking the words right out of my mouth.
Cass and I shared a look. She tried to reassure me with a squeeze to my shoulder, but I shrugged her off and sat forward, knees on elbows. I didn’t need comforting. This was the worst possible scenario this close to playoffs.
The Surge were down by two before the second intermission.
Hallie let out a low whistle. “Yikes. Grayson looks like someone swapped his stick for a pool noodle.”
“Should’ve scratched the game,” Dad said. “No legs left.”
Cass said nothing. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes sharp on the screen. That is, when they weren’t glancing in my direction every few minutes to gauge my reaction.
The camera cut to the bench, right where I should’ve been. Just an empty space. The commentators didn’t seem to run out of things to say about that.
My hands balled into fists.
“Why do they keep cutting to the bench like that?” Hallie asked. “It’s weird. You would’ve been there if you could. They keep saying you’re absent, but never once mentioned Coach Landry. He’s the reason you’re not there.”
The look Cass gave me said everything: I should’ve been out there tonight.
Even though she’d told me there’d be other games, and this was more important. She wasn’t wrong. But sitting here, watching my team fall apart while I was miles away and couldn’t help… It felt like watching my own heartbeat stutter on a screen I couldn’t reach.
Grayson flubbed another shot in the third. Wide open. He slammed his stick against the glass and cursed loud enough that even the home mics picked it up.
“Dude needs a juice box and a hug,” Hallie quipped.
Dad stood up and walked to the kitchen as if he’d seen enough. “He needs your brother,” he muttered on his way out.
“It’s just one game,” Cass said, shifting beside me on the couch. “One loss won’t change much.”
I knew she meant well, but all I could think about was how I’d let them down.
My suspicions were confirmed back at the arena the next day. I got in early before practice, and went to get my stuff from my locker. I saw it when I reached for my hoodie.
A note. Folded once.
You were missed. Hope it was worth it.
No signature. No explanation. Just enough to twist something in my gut.