Crack In The Ice - Chapter 16: Chapter 16

"We're here!"
I smile. "I can see that."
Olie lunges forward, wrapping her arms around my neck in a squeezing hug. I put my arms around her waist. Over her shoulder, I see Natalie hanging back, with a tame smile.
When Olie and I finally disentangle, I raise my hand in hello at Nat.
"Hey."
"Hey," she replies.
Dean comes rushing out of the kitchen then, wearing a gray apron covered in a spaghetti bowl print. He grins at our two visitors. "Hi."
"Okay." Olie arches her eyebrows through her smile. "Hi. What am I looking at?"
"This is a thing now," I say. "He started watching Master Chef last year, and now he googles recipes online to cook."
"We can't eat out or order in every day," Dean says. "Some things turn out better than others but the pasta I'm making for tonight is something I've done before. You'll like, I promise."
Olie gives him two thumbs up. "Can't wait."
"Can I help?" Nat offers.
Dean smiles. "Yeah, sure."
I close our apartment door once Nat follows Dean into the kitchen, then lead Olie to our couch.
"How was your flight?" I ask.
She plops down, tucking one of our pillows under her arm and one of her legs underneath the other. "Not a fan," she declares. "Just add it to the list of things I had been fantasizing about my whole life for nothing."
"That a long list?"
"Not really." She shrugs. "So far it's just flying, prom and you."
I snort. Olie smiles.
"So. How's Trey?"
She gives me a weird look. "Fine."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm."
I nod.
She gives me another smile. "How's therapy? You still doing that?"
"Every week." I nod. "Got an appointment tomorrow morning."
"And it works fine with your practice and game schedule?"
"It's a team appointed therapist, so yeah. I can have remote appointments during the season, when I have away games."
"That's good." She nods. "You look good. In general, I mean. Better each year, I think."
"I feel better. In general." I shrug.
That isn't a lie. Bad days still come, but it helps knowing they've passed before. And I'm getting better at giving myself a break when they don't pass as fast as I wish they did.
I still feel a twinge of something defensive, like some part of me is expecting Olie to be skeptic, to need me to prove somehow I mean what I say. But that doesn't come. It never does. Not once in years. And with time, I'm starting to become more comfortable accepting my friends' concern for only that. Not a pushy intrusion, not a violation of boundaries. Just natural concern.
"And your team, like coaches and whatever, don't make an issue?" She asks.
"No. Our coach is pretty cool about it. He checks in, but doesn't push. But I never had to miss a practice or anything."
Olie nods like she does when she's in full listener mode.
I laugh. "You and Owen always ask me the same questions."
She rolls her eyes. "We were raised by the same people."
"How are your parents, by the way?"
"Good. Same as you left them," she says. "Your brother came over last weekend for dinner. With Scarlet."
"Oh."
Olie gives me a once-over before asking, "You talk to him much?"
"Not really."
"Why not?"
I shrug. "I don't know. We're fine. We just don't... talk much."
"I think he misses you. You could call him every once in a while."
"He could call too, if he wants to talk."
She tilts her head with a pointed look. "Or he could say the exact same thing about you, and then no one calls."
There's some clattering from the kitchen and we both turn our heads in that direction.
"It's ready," Dean calls out.
I stand up, gesturing for Olie to follow me and we go into the dining room space attached to the kitchen, where the table's already been set.
"Damn, boys." Olie whistles. "This is a nice place you got here. I can see that pro money is treating you well."
"We can't complain," Dean says, pasta casserole in hands, which are covered in brown kitchen mittens with a chef's hat print.
We sit around the table, which we never usually eat at unless we have visitors. Dean serves substantial doses onto everyone's plates and we get to eating.
"Mmmh, this is great," Olie says.
Dean grins. "Thanks."
"You have definitely found a new talent," Nat says.
"It was mostly you," Dean says. "Think you saved it by adding the nutmeg."
"Mh, yeah. Absolutely," Olie mumbles through a mouth full of pasta, cream sauce and beef. "How could we ever have ingested this without the nutmeg?"
I snort.
"How's your shoulder, Eli?" Nat asks. "Dean said it hurt you a bit after last season's play-offs."
I look at Dean. "Did he tell you that in the kitchen just now?" I ask slowly.
Dean seems to be hyper-focused on his plate all of a sudden, arranging the contents of the casserole with his fork.
"Uh, no." Nat looks between the two of us. "It was a while back. Can't remember when exactly."
"I didn't know you were hurt," Olie says.
"I'm not. Shoulder's fine." Then, after thinking maybe that was a little too brusque, I add, "It hurt after I took a hit, but it healed. They always heal."
Nat's smile presents like a peace offering. "That's good," she says.
I don't return the smile, but I try a peace offering of a different kind. "How's your new job?"
I don't miss the way Dean keeps his eyes down and away from me. I don't try to press him for eye contact, though, keeping my gaze set on Natalie.
"It's good," she answers my question. "Nothing as exciting as professional hockey, I'm afraid. But the work environment is really nice. Everyone's very friendly, and my supervisor is really approachable."
"And the pay is great in the office levels, I'm sure," Olie adds.
Nat smiles. "Can't complain," she repeats Dean's words from earlier.
"I'm not complaining either. There are worst jobs than front-desk," Olie says. "Could be waiting tables like Paige and Hannah."
I raise my eyebrows at her. "What's wrong with waiting tables?"
"Lot of putting up with people for not enough money, that's what's wrong," Olie says.
"And front-desk is any different?"
"I at least get to sit on my ass and play on my phone when there's no tourists asking me which ski lane is best for them."
I snort.
"And by the way." Olie raises a finger, pointing it at me. "You don't get to be offended on behalf of waiters anymore."
"Sure I do."
"I don't think you do," Dean says.
I give him a look. "What happened to being a duo? A team?"
He shakes his head. "Not on this. Olie is right."
"I don't know," Nat chimes in. "He was a waiter, after all. For four years."
"Thank you," I say.
"And now he's making more money than the two of us combined," Olie objects.
"Exactly," Dean says.
"Doesn't erase past experiences," Nat argues.
"Sure it does," Olie says. "Warren fucking Astor used to wait tables. He's still a billionaire. Does he get to be offended on behalf of waiters?"
"Maybe if they're his waiters," Nat tries.
Olie points her thumb down, blowing a raspberry. "Nope. Motion rejected."
"That's different. Warren Astor wasn't actually a waiter," I say. "He was waiting tables the same way Liam Astor used to."
"Is that different from the way you were a waiter?" Dean asks.
"Yeah," I say pointedly. "They didn't need the job."
"They still did it, though," Olie says.
I roll my eyes. "Debatable, on Liam's case."
Olie smiles. "That's only 'cause you let him slack off."
"I let him?" I scoff. "How?"
"You two did all your shifts together," Olie says. "And you let Liam get away with doing minimum work to get by. For all your no-bullshit front, and as much as you used to go along with my brother's idea about the 'Lake City rich spawns', you were an absolute pushover about Liam."
I have trouble saying something at first. My mouth opens without any sound coming out for a second. "What? No. I was not a pushover. I just didn't have the time to do my job and get on him to do his."
"Mhm, whatever you say," Olie muses. "The Lake City rich spawn had you from day one."
I scowl. "That's not true."
"You did get along pretty fast," Dean says. "It was one of those unlikely friendship things."
I look at him and he raises his hands up in surrender. "I don't mean it in a bad way."
"I don't know," Nat says. "Liam and Eli don't seem like that much of an unlikely friendship to me."
I make sure my voice comes out as steady as possible when I ask, "What do you mean?"
Nat shrugs. "Knowing you both, you never seemed that incompatible."
"Yeah," Olie agrees. "There's a balance about you two. Like you and Dean, but in a completely different way."
Dean grins. "There's a balance about us," he repeats to me.
I snort.
"Yeah. Like a grumpy and sunshine bromance," Olie says.
"Owen's definitely grumpier," I argue.
"But Dean has sunshine for the two of you," Olie says.
Nat smiles. "That's true."
I raise my eyebrows, but I don't object. I guess there is a balance about us. Dean and I, at least.