Crack In The Ice - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

"Beautiful. Well done."
I smile at Helga, sliding through the ice toward the edge of the rink where she stands.
"I think we should go over it one more time," Chloe says.
I frown. "We did. Twice already. At your request. It was perfect. We're perfect."
"We should do it again." Chloe looks at Helga emphatically.
Our coach looks between us with raised eyebrows.
"This is fine," I whine. "Please, Helga."
She nods. "I agree. We do it again tomorrow. After you rest."
"Thank you," I huff. "I have a family dinner to get to. Logan came home today." I glare at Chloe. "I told you this."
Chloe ignores me, skating lazy circles while I get off the ice.
"James picking you up or do you need a ride?" I ask her.
She shrugs. "I told him we'd be late tonight."
I look at Helga's wrist watch. "It's not six-thirty yet."
"Mhm."
I roll my eyes. "Well. I have to be home, like, twenty minutes ago. So if you don't need a ride... I'll get going."
"Say hi to Logan for me."
"I will not," I say, walking to the locker room to change.
It's been a month since everyone came to visit. Mack and Owen Holmes left first for San Francisco and Boston, respectively. Eli and Dean were next, back to Calgary. I took my morning run to the lake on the Sunday he left, as we agreed, but our goodbye felt... strained. It's always like that. A moment spoiled by things we don't say because we never have and don't know how to start.
Natalie stayed, intent on looking for a life here in Idaho now she has graduated. We were never super close, so I was surprised when I realized I was actually excited she was staying. After high school, Brunson and Lake City fell into a routine for me. Having someone new into that routine feels fresh. Even if it is a new old person.
I make good time on the drive home and nobody seems to notice when I arrive. That allows me to slip upstairs to my room, which remains unchanged since high school. I drop my stuff and take a shower.
When I come back down the stairs, Leah is prattling excitedly about hockey and school, while my older sister Logan smiles and offers all of the right reactions at the right times - excited, surprised, impressed. Next to them, Grandma sits, doting on her precious little girl - who really hasn't been little in years - and her precious career plans.
That's how they both get when Logan's around.
While Leah and I take mostly after our mom, physically, Logan is all our dad. Smooth straight blonde hair, clear blue eyes, fair skin. Like a Barbie doll.
Barbie goes corporate.
To be fair, she does seem to have left the corporate attire at home today, sitting in our living room in tight-fitting jeans and a baby blue blouse. She looks... perfect.
"Look! You finally came to spend time with your family," my mom says as she walks into the living room through the kitchen.
I smile. "Practice ran only slightly late. But I wouldn't miss such an important family dinner for anything." I put an arm around her to drop a kiss on her cheek.
"Mhm." She gives me a knowing look.
"How's training going?" Logan asks me, head tilted back on the couch to look at me.
"Good."
Logan cocks a blonde eyebrow. "Just good? You used to go on and on about how you'll be an Olympic medalist in no time."
I smile. "I will. Just you wait."
Logan grins. "There's my baby brother."
I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to say "not a baby". Because it's what she wants.
Older sisters should be illegal.
"When's dinner ready?" Leah asks.
"Should be any time now. Your dad was just checking the oven," my mom says.
Every time Logan visits home, my dad insists on making dinner. He always does the one recipe he knows - Grandma Astor's casserole.
Sitting around the dinner table is kind of a messy affair, with a lot of seating rearranging and passing of pans. While we eat and talk, my mom, Grandma, and my sisters swing in and out of Spanish, which always makes me miss chunks of the conversation. My dad doesn't seem to be bothered, though. He just smiles a proud dad smile at his girls all the way through.
The thing about my sister Logan is that I love her. I do. She's family.
But I only ever feel the middle child syndrome kicking in when she's around. And it's not really her fault because she's just existing. But, yeah. There's that.
After dinner, my mom makes me put the dishes away, as 'punishment' for being late. On my way to my bedroom after that, I pass Leah's room, where my sisters are both lying on her bed, heads pressed together, looking at Leah's tablet.
"...whether Miller and Blake will be able to give us the season the Calgary Flames have been promising since drafting them in 2021, despite rumors of Elijah Blake's shoulder injury," a male voice sounds through the device's speakers.
"Well, that's exactly the question for the Flames this year, Garry..." a second voice starts going off.
I knock on the door frame to let them know I'm here.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
Leah pauses whatever's going on screen and Logan looks at me. "Leah's showing me her favorite hockey podcast. She says you went to school with these kids."
I narrow my eyes. "They're not kids. They're my age."
"Exactly." Logan pouts. "Itty bitty wittle kids."
I roll my eyes and jump on the bed on Leah's other side. She huffs, shifting into Logan to make room for me.
Her screen is paused on a man and a woman opposite each other on a table with a sound system set-up. A picture of Dean Miller and one of Eli are edited onto the image, between the two hosts.
My eyes zero in on Eli. The masculine cut of his jaw, the focused look in his eyes, the splash of color of pink lips I've tasted so many times. He's flushed and sweaty, hair mussed up like he just removed his helmet, padded shoulders visible just before the image cuts off.
And just beyond the edges of that photograph are gloved hands that seem to know the geography of my body by heart. All the valleys and crevices. The places that soften me and those that frenzy me. And even lower, hips that-
"You still with us, pollito?" Logan brings me back.
I clear my throat, raising my eyebrows at Logan.
I'm pollito and Leah is ardillita. Ever since small children. That's what she calls us. I obviously got the worse nickname, since a squirrel is way better than a chicken. But Logan's nickname for me is still better than what Grandma used to call me. Gordito. I was a chubby baby. Adorable, mind you. But chubby.
"He doesn't care about hockey," Leah says without looking at me.
"That's not true," I protest.
She looks at me, through narrowed eyes. "What's the black disk called?"
I smirk. "That's obviously a trick question. It doesn't have a name. No grown man would name a black disk thingy."
Leah rolls her eyes and Logan smiles knowingly. I want to prove her wrong. Show her she knows nothing. But I don't even know what she thinks she knows. Maybe that's just her default big sister face.
"Leah's actually right, though. I really don't care about hockey. But enjoy." I stand up.
"You could stay and hang out," Logan says as I walk to the door.
"Too tired. Long practice."
"I'll make you hang out with us tomorrow," Logan says.
"I'll be practicing."
"We'll come and watch."
"I'd rather you didn't."
"I'd rather not too," Leah says.
Logan pokes Leah's cheek. "You two don't get a choice."
I leave them behind, slipping into my old bedroom, which I still use every once in a while after family dinners - with or without Logan around.
It's kind of ridiculous that I turned myself on a bit just by looking at a picture of Eli's face.
To be fair, I could see more than just the face, some of his hockey gear was visible. I've made some amazing memories helping him out of that gear. Their not as much memories as they were fantasies. But they're burned into my mind like memories.
Sill. Ridiculous.
I take out my phone, searching for his number.
I'm surprised when the message gets read almost immediately.
That gets read, but no reply comes. Not even a fleeting typing bubble.
I'm obviously going to have to try harder.
I smile.
There's a bubble that quickly goes away. I'm already getting ready to try again, when a text comes through.