Burning Ice - Chapter 23: Chapter 23

I can't stop thinking about her. About the way she looked at me when she said what she did. It wasn't a promise, not exactly. But it was a door cracked open, just enough for me to step through.
Excitement and fear twist inside me like a storm. I've been in high-pressure situations my entire life with game-winning moments, split-second decisions with thousands of people watching. None of that feels as terrifying as this. Because this isn't just a goal to score or a title to win. It's her.
Billie isn't like anyone I've ever met. She doesn't get caught up in the noise around me. She doesn't care about the money, the fame, or the headlines. Hell, I'm not even sure she cares about hockey. And somehow, that makes her even more impossible to resist.
But that's also what scares me. Billie is solid, steady in a way I'm not used to. I've spent so long on thin ice, trying to keep everything together, that I'm not sure I know how to stand still without breaking something. She feels like something I could wreck without even meaning to.
Still, I can't ignore the way my chest tightens at the thought of her. There's a part of me that wants to grab this chance, hold on to it with everything I've got. But there's another part, the one that knows what happens when people put their faith in me. That part whispers I'll let her down, that I'll ruin her the way I ruin everything else.
But maybe... maybe this time is different. Maybe Billie sees something in me I've never been able to see in myself. And maybe, just maybe, I can prove her right.
It's not a promise. But it's a start. And for now, that's enough to keep me moving forward.
The second I see Bennett's name on the screen, I know something's wrong. My brother doesn't call to chat—he calls when things are serious. When I pick up, the pit in my stomach tightens before he even speaks.
"Nate." His voice is clipped, weighted.
"What's going on?" I ask, bracing myself.
"It's Dad," Bennett says. "He's in the hospital."
My grip on the phone tightens. "What happened?"
"It's his liver." A pause, heavy and unbearable. "It's not looking good. The doctors think it's only a matter of time."
The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. It got bad enough that he couldn't ignore it anymore. But even with the warning, it doesn't feel real now that the end is in sight.
"He's... dying?" I manage to get the words out, though they taste like ash in my mouth.
Bennett exhales, the sound rough and tired. "Yeah. They're saying it could be days, maybe a week if we're lucky."
The world tilts for a moment, my vision narrowing as I try to process what he's saying. I lean back against the wall, staring at the scuffed floor beneath my feet. Dad. Dying. After everything.. after all the shouting matches, the nights I spent hating him, the years of watching him drink himself into oblivion, it's coming to an end.
"Is he... awake?" I ask, my voice quieter now.
"Yeah," Bennett says. "He's awake. He's asking for us."
My throat tightens. Of course he is. Now, when it's too late to fix anything, he wants his sons by his side. The irony isn't lost on me, but the bitterness doesn't make this any easier.
"I'll be there," I say, my words clipped.
"You sure?" Bennett asks, and I can hear the hesitation in his voice. "You don't have to. I know things with him haven't been..."
I cut him off. "I said I'll be there."
There's a long pause before Bennett sighs. "Alright. I'll text you the details. It's probably better if you get here sooner rather than later."
When the call ends, I just sit there for a moment, the silence pressing in around me. My mind flashes back to the last time I saw my dad and how thin he looked, how the spark in his eyes had dimmed. I knew then that time wasn't on his side, but hearing Bennett say it out loud makes it all the more real.
I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. Sad? Angry? Guilty? Maybe all of it, maybe none of it. All I know is that I'm standing at the edge of something I can't avoid, and I hate it.
Dad might have been the one who gave up on himself, but now it's my turn to decide if I'm going to give up on him too. And even if I don't want to, even if the thought of seeing him like this makes my chest feel like it's caving in, I know I'll go.
Because no matter how much he's let me down, no matter how much I've wanted to walk away, he's still my father. And even if I can't forgive him, I can't leave him to face this alone.
The phone vibrates in my pocket, cutting through the heavy silence in the truck. I don't even want to look at it, but when Billie's name lights up the screen, I can't bring myself to let it ring out.
"Hey," I answer, trying to sound normal, but my voice is tighter than I want it to be.
"Hey, stranger," she says, her voice light and teasing. "What's up? You sound all serious, are you plotting your next grand romantic gesture or just stuck in traffic?"
Under different circumstances, I'd laugh. I'd play along, let her draw me into whatever story she's spinning today. Billie has this way of making even the smallest things sound like adventures, of turning ordinary moments into something that feels alive. But today, the weight pressing on my chest is too heavy to shake off.
"Just... got a lot on my mind," I say, my tone clipped.
She doesn't seem to notice or maybe she does, and she's trying to lighten the mood. "Well, I just got back from the club. Let me tell you, some people have no idea how to behave. This guy spilled his drink all over me and then tried to convince me it was an accident. Like, sir, you're not slick."
I can hear the smile in her voice, and for a second, I almost forget where I am and what I'm dealing with. But then reality crashes back in... Bennett's voice, the hospital, the clock ticking down on my father's life.
"You okay?" she asks, the laughter fading from her tone. "You're quiet."
"Yeah," I lie, gripping the steering wheel like it might hold me together. "I'm fine. Just tired."
She hesitates, and I can tell she's not buying it, but she doesn't push. "Well, you're not the only one. I had to spend half my night dodging drunk idiots and fake smiles. I swear, some people act like they've never seen a woman before."
I should say something, ask her more about her night, but the words get caught in my throat. Billie's world is so different from mine. She's sharp, quick on her feet, and somehow, she makes even chaos sound like it's under control. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here drowning in the past, in a mess I don't know how to fix.
"Nate?" she says softly. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah" I say again, the word coming out flat. "I'm good."
She pauses, and for a second, I think she's going to push me for more. But instead, she lets out a quiet laugh, trying to keep things light. "Alright, Mr. Mysterious. I'll let you go brood in peace. But you owe me a real conversation next time, okay?"
"Okay" I say, though the guilt twists in my gut.
When the call ends, the silence in the truck feels even louder than before. Billie sounded so... happy, so normal. And I just shut her out.
But what am I supposed to do? Tell her the truth? That my father's in the hospital, that the man who taught me to fight for everything is losing his own fight? That I don't even know if I want to be there when it's over?
No. Billie deserves better than the mess I'm in right now. She's the first good thing I've had in a long time, and I'm not going to drag her into this. Not yet.
So for her, I'll keep my mouth shut and let her think I'm just having an off night. Because if she knew the truth—if she saw how much of a wreck I really am—I'm not sure she'd stick around.
I step into the hospital and head straight for the elevator, shrugging off the lingering weight of the call with Billie. This isn't about her right now. It's about showing up, doing the thing I've been avoiding for years.
The sterile scent of disinfectant fills the air as I navigate the hallways. The hospital is too bright, too quiet, a constant reminder of why I hate these places. I follow the room numbers until I spot Bennett sitting outside one of the doors, slouched in a chair with his phone pressed to his ear.
He looks up when he sees me and nods, but he doesn't say anything. Just goes back to whatever conversation he's having. Typical Bennett always in control, always handling things.
I step past him, pulling open the door.
The room is smaller than I expected, and empty in a way that feels suffocating. No flowers, no cards, no visitors. Just Dad, lying in the hospital bed with tubes snaking into his arms and machines beeping softly in the background.
For a second, I just stand there, taking it all in. The man in the bed looks... smaller than I remember. His skin is pale, his frame thinner, his face hollowed out in a way that makes him look decades older.
I glance around again, half-expecting someone else to walk in, but there's no one. No sobbing family members, no friends keeping vigil. Just him. Alone.
My chest tightens, a mix of anger and something I don't want to name. This is what it's come to. A man who once commanded every room he walked into, who ruled our lives with an iron fist, now lying here with no one by his side.
I take a step closer, my boots scuffing against the linoleum floor. He doesn't notice me at first, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but then his head turns slightly, and his gaze locks onto mine.
"Nate," he says, his voice scratchy and weak.
I swallow hard, stuffing my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking. "Hey, Dad."
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The silence stretches out, filled only by the hum of the machines and the faint sound of Bennett's voice outside the door.
I don't know what I expected to feel walking into this room. Anger, maybe. Resentment. But looking at him now, all I feel is... empty.
He's not the man I remember. The man I grew up fearing, the man who pushed me harder than anyone else ever could. He's just a man now. Fragile. Broken.
"You finally decided to show up," he says, his lips twitching into something that might be a smile if he weren't so weak.
"Yeah," I say, my voice rough. "I'm here."
And for now, that's all I can give him.
I drag the chair from the corner of the room, the screech of metal on tile slicing through the silence. When I sit, I can feel the weight of his gaze, sharp even now, even like this. He looks at me the way he always has—like he's trying to figure me out, trying to measure me against some invisible standard he set years ago.
"You don't have to stay," he says, his voice quiet and raspy.
"I'm here. Might as well sit." I answer, not meeting his eyes.
He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle that turns into a shallow cough. "Stubborn. Just like your mom used to say."
I flinch at the mention of her, but I don't say anything. He watches me for a moment, like he's trying to find the words.
"You know" he starts, his voice thin and strained, "I wasn't... I wasn't a good dad. I know that."
I glance at him, my jaw tightening. The urge to say something sarcastic, to lash out, bubbles up, but I hold it down.
"Too late to fix it now" he says, his eyes moving to the ceiling. "But I wanted you to know I'm... sorry. For all of it."
The words hang in the air, heavy and raw. I stare at him, my mind spinning, my chest tight. He's not wrong, it is too late. Apologies don't erase years of anger and disappointment. They don't erase the nights I spent hating him or the years he spent drinking himself into a stupor while we picked up the pieces.
But there's something in his voice, something I don't think I've ever heard before. Regret.
He doesn't look at me when he speaks again. "You're a better man than I ever was, Nate. I watch your games, you know." He pauses, his throat working as if swallowing costs him something. "Every damn one of them. When no one's around."
My heart twists in a way I don't expect. I want to tell him to stop, to save his breath, but I can't speak.
"I'm proud of you," he says, his voice breaking just slightly. "I probably should've said it before, but... you turned out better than I ever deserved. You and Bennett."
I drop my head into my hands, pressing my palms into my eyes as if it'll stop the emotions threatening to break me apart. I've waited years to hear those words, but now that I have, they feel hollow. Too little, too late.
"You and your brother" he continues, his voice softer now, "you still believe in things. In people. You've still got hope in this world, even though I'm the reason you should've lost it."
I can't look at him. The lump in my throat feels like it's choking me, and my hands clench into fists on my knees.
"I don't deserve you two" he says, his voice barely a whisper now. "But I'm lucky I got you anyway."
The room goes quiet, the words lingering in the air like ghosts. I can't bring myself to say anything, can't bring myself to look at him. My chest feels like it's caving in, the weight of everything pressing down until I can barely breathe.
I've spent years hating him for what he did, for who he was. And now, sitting here, I don't know what to feel. Anger, grief, guilt... it all crashes over me, threatening to drown me.
I don't know if I can forgive him. I don't even know if I want to. But for the first time, I think I see him for who he really is. Not the monster I made him out to be, not the invincible man who could do no wrong. Just a man. Flawed, broken, and dying.
And as much as it hurts, I stay silent. Because no matter how much I want to speak, no words will ever be enough.
The hour I sit with him passes in silence, the kind that isn't peaceful but isn't entirely uncomfortable either. It's just... there, heavy and suffocating. Neither of us tries to break it. I don't think we know how.
Dad closes his eyes at some point, his breathing shallow but steady. I watch him, trying to process what just happened, the things he said, the things I couldn't say. There's no closure, no clean ending. Just a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air between us.
When I finally stand, my legs feel stiff, my chest tight. I glance at him one last time, wondering if this is it, if this is the last time I'll see him alive.
"Get some rest" I mutter, even though he doesn't respond. I don't even know if he hears me.
Bennett's still in the hallway when I leave, his phone tucked away now. He looks at me, his expression unreadable.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice low.
I nod, but it's a lie. "Yeah. I'm heading out."
Bennett doesn't press, just nods back. "Drive safe."
The walk to my truck feels longer than it should. The night is cold, the kind that creeps into your bones no matter how many layers you're wearing. By the time I slide into the driver's seat, my hands are numb, though I'm not sure if it's from the cold or everything weighing on me.
I drive home in a daze, barely noticing the streets or the glow of the city lights. When I get to my apartment, I don't bother turning on the TV or grabbing a beer. I just sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall until my body gives up and I finally lie down.
It's well past midnight when the phone rings. The sound cuts through the darkness like a knife, jarring me awake. My heart sinks before I even pick it up.
"Hello?" My voice is hoarse, rough with sleep and dread.
"Nathan Griffith?" The voice on the other end is calm, clinical. I already know what they're going to say.
"Yes" I say, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles ache.
"I'm calling from the hospital. I'm sorry to inform you that your father passed away earlier tonight."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest, but I don't react. I don't gasp, don't cry, don't scream. I just sit there, the silence stretching between us until the voice continues, telling me about next steps, about paperwork and arrangements. I barely hear it.
When the call ends, I drop the phone onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. My father is dead.
It doesn't feel real. Just hours ago, he was alive, speaking to me, apologizing, trying to make amends. And now he's gone. Just like that.
I wait for the tears, the anger, the sadness—anything but nothing comes. All I feel is a hollow ache, like something's been ripped out of me and left a gaping hole behind.
He's gone, and all I have left are his words. Words I didn't know how to respond to. Words that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
And for the first time in years, I feel like that scared kid again, the one who wanted so badly for his dad to be something more, someone better.
But now it's too late. Too late for apologies. Too late for forgiveness. Too late for anything.