Chapter 1 #4
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “But he’s not supposed to miss school. His teacher already said he was behind.”
“Honey, relax. I spoke to the principal. You know, Mr. Price. You guys were teammates back in the day.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard. Can’t believe he’s the principal now.”
Mom reached across the desk and gently squeezed his arm. “Why don’t you go talk to Brody? Get his side of the story.”
“On my way.” Ethan forced a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Anytime,” she said. “That’s what family’s for.”
He turned away and walked back outside. A minute. That was all he needed. A minute to collect himself. Just as he steadied his thoughts, the door opened and a familiar voice broke the silence.
“Hey there, Clutch! Long time no see.”
Ethan turned to see Hank, the resort’s maintenance man. A burly guy with a friendly smile, Hank had been part of the fabric of Redemption for as long as Ethan could remember.
“Hey, Hank.” Ethan reached out and shook his hand. “What’s up?”
“Just working on the hot tub. Heard you were back in town. You know, the kids still talk about how you used to sink three-pointers like it was nothing. Some say you never missed.”
Ethan felt a pang of nostalgia, mixed with a bittersweet sting. “Yeah, those were some good times.”
“Good times, indeed! You should teach Brody some of your moves. Kid’s got potential.”
“He’s not really into basketball, Hank.”
“Aw, come on. You were made for it. He just needs some encouragement. Maybe he could be the next Clutch McGuire.”
Ethan glanced toward the shed. “I’d love to, but Brody’s not interested. He’s more into skateboarding these days.”
Hank shrugged, his grin fading slightly. “Kids can be stubborn. But you know, it’s not just about the game. It’s about spending time together, making memories. I’d give anything to have my son interested in something I love.”
Ethan’s chest tightened. That was exactly what he wanted for Brody, but the gap between them felt insurmountable. “Yeah, I get that. Just…trying to figure things out.”
“Hey, you’re back home now. That counts for something. You’ll find a way,” Hank said, clapping Ethan on the shoulder. “Just don’t give up on him, all right?”
Ethan nodded, but the weight of Hank’s words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken fears. He watched as Hank walked away, whistling a tune Ethan couldn’t quite place.
“Just don’t give up,” he whispered, but the words felt hollow. How could he reach a boy who seemed set on pushing him away?
With a deep breath, he turned back toward the shed, its presence a reminder of everything he longed to share with Brody.
But as the echoes of Hank’s encouragement faded, the reality of the situation settled in—for now, he was still just Clutch, a name that felt like both a badge of honor and a painful reminder of what he used to be.
His breath left white puffs in the air as he cut long strides across the yard. Someone had rolled up the garage-style doors for Brody. Ethan caught a glimpse of his son sailing across the gorgeous parquet floor on his skateboard.
“Oh my word.” Ethan broke into a jog. “Brody, what are you doing, man? You can’t skateboard in here.”
Brody hopped off the board, tapped the back end with his toe, then grabbed the nose with his hand. He glared at Ethan. “Why not?”
Ethan planted his hands on his hips. He opened his mouth to admonish the disrespectful tone, but his son’s sullen expression made him choose his words carefully.
Brody wore a black hoodie with sleeves pushed up, gray cargo pants, and black-and-white checker-print sneakers that seemed out of place in Alaska in January.
With his flushed cheeks and that stubborn set to his jaw, they might be in for a tough conversation.
“The wheels aren’t good for the floor,” Ethan said quietly.
“But there’s nowhere else.” Brody glared at him, suddenly looking more like a frustrated teenager than an eight-year-old.
“When the snow melts, you’ll be able to skateboard outside. There’s plenty of asphalt. Come on. Let’s shoot some hoops.”
Brody shook his head. “I don’t like basketball.”
Ethan raked his hand through his hair. “Son, what happened?”
He dipped his chin. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Your grandmother said she had to pick you up early, so it sounds like we need to talk about it, whether you want to or not.”
Brody’s chin shot up, his brown eyes glossy with tears. “I said I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to play basketball! You wrecked my life. You wrecked everything. I hate it here! I want to go home.”
He let his skateboard hit the floor with a thunk. Crying, he ran out the door and back toward the resort.
His heart hammering, Ethan stalked over to the old metal rack that held their gear. He grabbed a basketball, bounced it three times—hard—then hurled it across the shed with a guttural yell.
Then he doubled over, breathing hard, and clutched his knees with his hands. Brody’s words knifed through him, as precise as a surgeon’s blade, straight across his mangled heart. The kid wasn’t wrong. Everything about their life felt wrecked. And Ethan wasn’t sure he could fix any of it.