Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Levi
I prop my foot up on the wooden bench that overlooks the ice and lace up my skates.
This is the first time we’ve come out to the cabin in winter since we were kids, back when our dad would take us and Leila out to skate, and once we were done, we’d drink hot chocolate from a thermos.
I sometimes wish I could go back to those times, before hockey became a job, before the pressure and all the shit that comes with being professional athletes who get paid an obscene amount of money to chase a rubber puck around on ice.
Landon sits next to me, having already pulled on his skates. He looks relaxed; more so than I’ve seen him in weeks. There’s something about taking a much-needed break that makes everything feel simpler.
Tate sits down on the other side of Landon.
“You good?” Landon asks him.
“Yeah,” Tate says, testing the tightness of his laces. “Just making sure these are secure. Don’t want to take a spill out there.”
Landon leans over and looks at Tate’s skates. “Maybe I should double-check those for you. I remember when you used to actually know how to skate, but I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself now that you’re a coach.”
I bite back a grin—that’s a low blow, even for Landon.
Tate shoots him a look. “Yeah, well, I remember when you used to know how to mind your own business. Crazy how things change.”
“Low blow, Coach,” Landon says.
“You started it,” Tate fires back. “And for the record, it’s been years since I’ve played competitively. So if I’m a little rusty, that’s the excuse I’m going with.”
“Rusty,” I repeat, unable to help myself. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because I’m thinking more like completely out of shape and possibly needing training wheels to remember how to balance.”
Tate turns to glare at me. “You know what? I regret coming out here with you two assholes already.”
“You love me,” Landon says.
“Unfortunately,” Tate mutters, but he’s holding back a smile.
“Don’t worry, Coach,” I say, reaching over and patting his shoulder. “We can get you some kiddie skates if you need them—I think they have some for beginners at the pro shop. No shame in it.”
“I’m going to remember this,” Tate says. “When you both inevitably eat ice out there, I’m going to stand on the sidelines and laugh.”
“Fair,” I say, “but we won’t eat ice. Unlike some people, we’ve kept our skills sharp.”
Landon reaches over and high-fives me as Tate shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “insufferable dicks.”
“Once I’m on the ice, it’ll all come back to me,” he says with an impressive amount of bravado. “Muscle memory is a beautiful thing, even for washed-up coaches.”
“Did you just call yourself washed up?” Landon asks, with an eyebrow raised.
“He did,” I confirm with a scoff. While he might not play anymore, I have seen him out on the ice when he thinks no one is watching.
Tate stands up. “You two are the worst. I don’t know why I tolerate this.”
“Because we’re charming?” I suggest.
“Because Abby would be sad if you were not around,” Landon adds.
Tate points at him. “That one. That’s the real reason.”
I laugh because it’s probably true. Abby would absolutely lose her mind if Tate tried to bail on us now.
Landon stands up and tests his balance, doing a spin that makes me shake my head. My brother has always been a show-off, but what can I say? So am I.
“Come on, slowpokes,” Landon calls out, already gliding a few feet away from the dock. “The ice is perfect today. Look at that! It’s like glass.”
I finish checking my own laces and push myself up. I step onto the ice carefully, testing my weight, and within seconds, I’m moving across the frozen surface. The cold air hits my face, making my cheeks burn, and I can’t help but let out a laugh.
Tate joins us, pushing off with a few tentative strokes before he gains confidence.
We spend the first several minutes just skating, getting a feel for the ice, and warming up.
The sun dips lower in the sky, painting the clouds orange and pink.
It’s beautiful and peaceful, and I briefly wonder what life would be like without the pressure of hockey and instead living like this, a normal life in the middle of nowhere.
“Hockey or just skating?” I ask, looking between Landon and Tate.
“Hockey,” Landon says, already moving toward the bench where we’ve stashed the equipment. “I didn’t drag everyone out here simply to skate around.”
I laugh because that’s so Landon. Even when we’re supposed to be relaxing, he needs to turn it into a competition. It’s part of why he’s so good, but sometimes I wish he could let loose without needing to win at everything.
“Fair point,” I say, following him back to the bench. “Tate, are you in?”
Tate nods, and we gather the sticks and puck that we brought with us.
“All right,” I say, looking between them. “What’s the format? Me against you two? God knows Tate needs all the help.”
Tate grins. “Let’s do two on one, but we’ll rotate so everyone gets to be the solo player.”
“Then let’s start with you two against me, because we all know I’m the better athlete,” I fire back.
“Fine, you’re on, and we are going to kick your ass.”
The game is intense, but I knew it would be. Landon hates to lose, and he especially hates losing to me. It’s why we have always played together—both of us are too competitive to play against each other.
Landon comes up beside me during a brief pause in our game to reset. “You’re playing like shit,” he says. “Is this what retirement looks like for you?”
“Says the guy who just fumbled that pass,” I shoot back. “Remember when you used to be good at this . . . just yesterday?”
“I am good at this,” Landon says defensively. “A lot better than you. We all know you have been riding on my coattails all these years.”
Tate skates over. “Are you two done, because for elite players, you’re both playing like shit.”
“Is that how it is?” Landon laughs, grabbing Tate by the hoodie and dragging him into his body.
“Yuck, are you done with the love fest?” I say.
“Yep,” Tate says, and then he takes off with the puck. He weaves between us, and for a moment, I think he might score. But Landon speeds after him, cutting him off at the goal line.
“Still got it, Coach,” Landon taunts. “But I remember you being faster than that.”
Tate grunts as he tries to maneuver around Landon. “That was before you started taking up all my time and distracting me with your ridiculous egos.”
“Blame us,” I say, stealing the puck from him. “I like that strategy.”
“You started it by suggesting I needed training wheels,” Tate calls after me as I skate toward the goal.
“That was a compliment!” I yell back. “I was saying at least then you’d stay upright!”
At one point, I sneak a pass through Tate’s legs, and Landon is there to slam it into the goal before Tate even realizes what happened.
“That was dirty,” Tate says, skating back toward us.
“All is fair in love and hockey,” Landon says, and Tate flips him off.
“You two are going to get benched so hard when we get back,” Tate says.
“By who . . . you?” Landon asks. “The guy who can barely remember which direction the puck goes?”
“The guy who signs your paychecks,” Tate shoots back. “Watch your mouth, Kane.”
“Kinky,” Landon murmurs. “I like when you get all ‘boss man’ around me.”
Tate flushes at that, which makes both Landon and me lose it, bursting out in laughter.
“Focus on the game, you assholes,” Tate says, but he’s fighting a smile now.
We keep playing, switching up who’s defending and who’s attacking.
At one point, Tate manages to snake the puck away from me, and I chase him across the ice.
Our skates kick up snow and ice behind us as he moves faster.
For a second, I think he might actually make it past me, but I dig in and push myself harder, and I catch him just before he reaches the goal line.
We collide, both of us going down hard, and I brace myself for impact.
Yet somehow we end up in a tangle of limbs that’s more amusing than painful.
“You’re an asshole,” Tate says.
“You know it. How else could I make my brother want to murder me other than by rolling around with you on the ice?” I say, pulling myself up and offering him a hand.
He takes it, and I haul him to his feet.
“You two done flirting?” Landon snaps from nearby.
“We’re not flirting,” Tate says, turning to skate back into position.
“Are you jealous I was touching your man? I look exactly like you, so he would never even know.”
“Touch him and I will smother you in your sleep,” Landon seethes.
I laugh as Landon skates after me. “Calm down, killer, I don’t want your man.”
Landon executes a perfect between-the-legs deke, and the puck slides through our makeshift goal. He glances over at Tate with a cocky smirk.
“That was showing off,” Tate states. “But it was impressive.”
Landon preens at the compliment, which makes me roll my eyes.
“Don’t encourage him,” I say to Tate. “His ego is already big enough.”
“My ego is perfectly proportioned to my talent,” Landon says.
“Your ego is perfectly proportioned to your delusion,” I fire back at my twin.
We get back into position and start again, and this time I’m more focused. I weave across the ice, my stick controlling the puck with ease, then I pass it to Tate, who’s positioned perfectly to take the shot.
He winds up and lets it fly. The puck sails through the air before hitting the back of the goal.
“Yes!” Tate throws his arms up in celebration.
Landon skates over, and despite his competitiveness, he claps Tate on the back in acknowledgment of a good play.
“Look at that,” I say. “The washed-up coach still has it.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Tate groans out.
“Get in line,” Landon says. “He’s been asking for it all day.”
“I can hear you both,” I call out as they skate toward me. “And I regret nothing.”
“One more round,” Landon says.
We set up for another game, but it’s clear that we are getting tired. I miss a pass that I would normally nail with my eyes closed. Then Tate gets tangled up in his own feet trying to chase down the puck, which gives me all the ammunition I need.
“So much for muscle memory,” I call out.
“Shut up,” Tate grumbles.
“This is it.” I glide to a stop in the middle of the ice. “I’m calling it, we’re done. Before someone actually takes a spill and we have to explain to Abby why one of her boyfriends is concussed.”
“Yeah, all right, we should head in,” Landon says. “It’s getting dark.”
We get back to the bench and start unlacing our skates. I can barely feel my toes, and I’m pretty sure my nose is bright red, but I don’t care.
“That was amazing,” Tate says, pulling off his skates and rubbing his feet to get the circulation going again. “I forgot how much I missed it.”
“We should do this more often,” I say.
“Definitely,” Landon agrees. “I forgot how much I missed playing for the sake of playing, you know? And just having fun.”
Tate laughs. “Even though you both spent the entire time giving me shit?”
“That’s what makes it fun,” I say.
“For you, maybe,” Tate mutters, but he is smiling like an idiot.
“Oh, come on,” I say, reaching over and bumping his shoulder. “You know you loved it. You were smiling the whole time.”
“I was suffering,” Tate replies, but we both know he’s lying.
We gather up the equipment and make our way toward the cabin. The sun has fully set and I’m sure Abby is starving. Landon and Tate agreed to make dinner tonight.
“This was a good idea,” I say to Landon as we walk. “Coming out here.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I think we all needed it.”
As we reach the cabin door, I can’t help but smile to myself. This is what our future should be like, just the four of us having fun and enjoying life.