Crack In The Ice - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Home zooms in on an airplane window.
Or close enough.
There's a sudden jab of pain as a fidgety Dean digs an elbow into my forearm.
I look at him. "Ow."
He gives me a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
I lean back on my seat so he can watch the view out the window and maybe stop being so restless, the way he always gets at the end of even the shortest flights.
That was something we didn't know about him until four years ago. Neither of us had ever been on a plane until we boarded our very first one together, after eighteen years without ever leaving Idaho, to move to a whole different country.
I've lost count on how many flights we've been on since.
I don't rush to my feet after we land, but I let Dean start fumbling with his seat belt and contorting to get to the overhead compartment for our luggage. He needs the energy release.
On Arrivals, we're greeted by a familiar smile. The kind of open smile that expands to reach coffee-brown eyes in full.
The Miller Smile.
Dean's smile matches his brother's and they join for a quick hug.
As alike as all the Miller boys are, Devin and Dean ended up as different as their genes would allow. They have their father's eyes, the Miller Smile and fresh shaven faces, but that's about it.
While Devin's all his father in the tall lean stature, Dean takes after his maternal grandfather with a stockier, broader built. Dean did get the near-brown hair though, whereas Devin got their mom's crisp blonde.
The drive from the airport into Idaho toward home takes around an hour for a regular driver. Devin's got a heavy foot though, and a brand new car – courtesy of the Olympic-level ski team he's a part of – so we're almost thirty minutes early.
It doesn't matter, though. Mrs and Coach Miller are already waiting for us.
Dean's mom is the first to rush toward us.
"Welcome home, boys," she gushes pulling us both in for a hug, despite her five-feet-two.
Dean wraps one arm around me as we're squished together and sets the other on his mother's back to squeeze a lot more gently.
"Thanks, Mrs Miller," I say.
She pulls back to give me a warning look that's all tenderness and very little warning. "We talked about this."
I smile. "Sorry. Thanks, Liz."
"Do I get a turn?"
Mrs Miller steps aside to leave room for her husband. Dean steps into his dad's arms, and Coach Miller pats his son's back five times – one for each month it's been since they last saw each other.
Eventually, his eyes find me.
"Hi, Coach."
Dean's dad smiles warmly. The Miller Smile. It always finds a way to catch me off guard.
"Come here, son," he says as the father-son embrace dissolves.
My hug is briefer, lasting only two pats on the back. That should be one for each phone call I promised them and then didn't deliver since Christmas.
"Come on, let's go in," Devin says, already standing by the door. "I'm starving."
"You think your brother might be around?" Mrs Miller asks me when we walk into the foyer of The Lodge – the rustic-chic restaurant and bar area of the Astor Ski Resort, per their own website's description.
"He doesn't usually work Saturday nights now," I say.
The Millers were never the kind of family to eat dinner at The Lodge back when Dean and I lived here. Neither was mine. If you found any of us in here, we were probably working a shift.
But now Dean's parents like to treat us to a dinner here every time we come home after the play-offs. Dean and I tried to negotiate our way into splitting the check the first year, but they wouldn't hear it. So, instead, we pay for our share of the Christmas dinner when we come home.
Our table tonight is a round booth by the window, spacious enough to comfortably sit five. A small smile creeps onto my face as our waitress comes over.
"Heyy, long time no see!" She grins. "I was starting to wonder when you'd come back home. Well, obviously your home now is in Calgary, but home is always home, right. That's what they tell you in the movies at least."
I smile. "Nice to see you too, Hannah."
That seems to surprise her for a split second before she recovers back into the grin. "Should I just leave these off with you and give you some time to choose?" She shows us the leather-bound menus.
"No need for me. I know what I'm having," Devin says. "Give me some of that wonderful stew."
"Same for us, please." Mrs Miller points between herself and her husband.
"Me too," Dean adds.
"Okay." Hannah takes out her pen and pad, looking at me. "Should I write five stews then?"
"Yes, please," I say.
"On the way. I'll let Chef Armel know it's for you." She winks, before turning around.
As Hannah fisapprars into the kitchen, Devin nudges Dean's arm with his elbow. "Don't remember her from your graduation."
"Hannah was two years ahead of us," Dean explains. "So, like. One year behind you."
Devin tilts his head, squinting slightly. "Don't remember her."
"You were kind of an arrogant prick in high school."
"Dean," Mrs Miller – I'll never be able to call her Liz in my head – chides.
Devin snorts. "No, he's right. I was."
Coach Miller hums. His wife looked at him and he shrugs. "He was."
"Hannah looked different in high school," I say.
"Yeah," Dean says, looking like he's recalling. "She used to have braces and stuff. With those, like, colored elastics. And she always had her hair in a braid thing."
Devin nods, looking at me. "You two seemed friendly."
"Eli worked here," Dean says.
Devin smirks. "And now he's dining here. With the compliments of the chef." He pats Dean on the shoulder. maybe a little harder than necessary. "How you two have climbed the social ladder."
"I'm sure Chef Armel will spit on my stew," I mutter.
Devin snorts.
"So, boys." Mrs Miller leans over the table crossing her hands under her chin. "Tell us everything that happened in your lives since Christmas."
"Don't think Dean'll have anything new to tell you that you didn't hear in those weekly phone calls," Devin muses.
"Hush." Mrs Miller waves a hand in her older son's face. "I want to hear it in person. I do the same with your brothers."
Devin's eyes widen in a complicit look he throws at us. "After you all moved out she turned my weekly phone calls into weekly dinners."
"And you liked the home-cooked meals so much you turned it into an every other day occurrence," Coach Miller says.
"Quiet, both of you." Mrs Miller tuts. "I love having Dev over for dinner, and he's welcome any time he wants. But now I want to hear from Dean and Eli."
Coach Miller and Devin both keep mostly quiet after that. Dean carries most of the conversation.
He tells his mom about games we won, and foods he tried, and people we met, and games we lost. And I'm sure I heard him tell most of those stories on the phone, but he looks even more excited telling them in person. I only really speak when directly spoken too, and that's only on the stories that involve me – which, granted, are most of them. But mostly Dean's family is happy to hear him ramble about his life in the past five months.
I like it. Sitting with the Millers for dinner. Watching them be a family the way they were since the days of the joint Miller-Blake Sunday lunches.
I like how being here doesn't bring me back to those days on a sour note anymore. Going down memory lane gets sweeter as the years go by. Time seems to dissolve the bitterness. Just like Dr Wooding said it would.
Everyone's already done with dessert when I finally see him.
He sees me too.
He walks in, in jeans and a navy blue button-down. The simple attire of a casual night. It shouldn't elicit the warm, fluttery feeling in my stomach.
Deep-blue eyes find mine from a high stool by the counter. I don't think about the little skip in my chest. I can't ever think too much about those details.
I push the untouched half of my chocolate mousse toward Dean, and he and Devin grab their spoons to dig in together as I excuse myself.
Liam watches me walk over to him, a smile on his face. I take a seat next to him on the counter.
"And the prodigal children return."
I snort. That makes him smile more.
"How're you doing?" I ask.
He shurgs. "The usual. How's the glam life of a pro hockey player?"
"Not really glamorous at all."
"Mhm." Something shines back at me in the glowing pools of his eyes. "We saw these photos of you and Dean hanging out with some Instagram models you met at a party. Quite the talk around town."
I let out an awkward breathy laugh. "Yeah... No."
He raises his eyebrows. "Really? That's a shame. You looked cute together."
I try to pick up the sarcasm in his voice, but I can't. But there is something else. Something more cutting, hiding underneath the lightness of his tone.
"We're just friends."
Liam's eyes zero in on me with newfound focus. "So you still talk?"
I shake my head, not really understanding what he's getting at.
"She's nice, but she's not my type."
After Nat, I decided that I wouldn't date women for appearances' sake anymore. It wouldn't be fair. No need to drag other people into my own vortex of self-denial and self-punishment. Not again, anyway.
Liam cocks his head. "She might be mine. Care to set us up?"
"No."
His lips twitch into a smile. "Is Dean with the blonde? The one with the followers and the designer clothers?"
I roll my eyes. "No. She went with a basketball player instead."
I think I might sound a little bitter there. I can't really help it. I remember too well picking up the pieces after Dean fell too soon and too hard for yet another dyied blonde who was just looking for some fun. He always says he's cool with a no-strings-attatched arrangement and then he's always not.
Liam hums. "Tough luck."
"Yeah."
I look around the room, checking on the Millers still gathered around the table. Hannah's eyes intercept mine. She comes over from a table she was cleaning up, condiments container still in hand.
"Can I get you boys something? Maybe a drink to go with all that ketch-up." She waves the condiments in our faces with a silly smile that melts into a slightly self-conscious grin after she sees the looks on our faces. "Sorry. That was terrible." She sets the condiments on the counter.
Liam laughs. "A drink would be great, Han."
"The usual vice?"
"You know me."
She looks at me. "Same for you?"
I glance at Liam. "I don't know what his usual vice is."
"Oh. It's disgusting. You'll see," she says before going off to the other side of the counter.
Liam smiles as he watches her work, until two tall glasses materialize in front of us.
"I don't make them as well as Scarlett, but they should be fine," Hannah offers.
Liam takes a sip from his. "It's great, Han. Thanks."
She smiles. "Any time. Should I put it on your tab?"
"Put it on his." Liam throws me smirk. "He's gone pro four years ago and he still hasn't bought me a drink, can you believe that?"
Hannah laughs, looking at me. "Do you have a tab here, Eli?"
I peel my eyes off the knowing smile on Liam's lips to look at her. "Open one."
"Will do. Call me if you need me."
As she walks away, I stare down at my drink. "What's this?"
"Try it."
I do. It's sweet and fresh and strong. The kind of drink to go to your head immediately. Like Liam.
"It's good." I lick my lips.
I see Liam's eyes on my mouth, following the motion, and I can feel it too. Inside. Heat pools my stomach and I tell myself it's the drink.
I clear my throat. "How have you been?"
I asked that already, didn't I?
"Good." Liam bites back a smile. I think he knows I've asked this before too. "You know me. Always good."
I smile and he returns it.
No one really says anything after that. And it's comfortable. There's background noise from the people around us, but it still feels like a comfortable silence. I don't know how long it lasts, but at some point Dean comes up to us.
"Hey." He smiles at Liam, before turning back to me. "My parents want to go home. You staying?"
I look at Liam as he takes another sip. "Yeah."
"Okay. If you ask nicely, maybe Dev can give you a ride." Dean nods his head to where his brother is chatting with Hannah across the counter. Well, Han's doing most of the chatting, but Devin seems pretty happy egging her on.
"Okay." I nod.
Dean smiles one last time and follows his parents out. They wave at me from the door and I wave back.
"Which one's that?" Liam asks once Dean is gone.
I bring myself to look at him. "What?"
"The Millers. They have like three sons, right?"
"Four," I correct. "That's Devin. Second youngest after Dean."
"The skier."
"Yeah." I nod. "Think his parents made him half-move back in after Dean left. Since he's now the one who's closest."
"The other two not in town anymore?" Liam asks, with the kind of conversational, uninterested tone people use to talk about the weather.
I finish my drink in three large gulps that burn on the way down and shake my head. "David's in Boise with a marketing job and an engagement of three years with his girlfriend. Dan is in Lewiston with a wife and three kids."
Liam simply nods politely, but I keep talking.
"Derek's ten. Little Daisy will be six soon, I think"
"Mh. Is Dan also in marketing?" Liam asks in a mock-curious tone.
"No." I smile, because I don't really understand why I'm babbling about the Millers either. I've always been fine going for silence over too many words. Especially around Liam. "Think he's a contractor like his dad."
"Ah," Liam muses. "The boring lives of the straights."
"My dad was a contractor," I point out.
"I know."
"Think you mean the working-class straights then. We can't all have private jets to go to Cappadocia on a whim."
He scoffs. "It was not a whim. It was their anniversary. My dad is a gentleman and a romantic."
"And you think it's a family trait?"
"You don't?"
"Got no evidence to go on, do I?"
Liam smiles. He glances at my empty glass. "You need another one."
I put my hand over his before he can call Hannah over. He looks down at the touch. I remove my hand slowly.
"I'm fine. Don't wanna do more than one."
Liam arches his eyebrows. "Is that a New Year's resolution you're still holding on to?"
"Not quite."
There's a heartbeat of silence in which I think he's expecting me to say more. When I don't, he just says, "How enigmatic."
"Hey, boys."
We both lift our eyes to look at Hannah. She smiles.
"It's almost eleven, which means my shift's ending and I need to close this down. Sooo if you wanna keep catching up I'm gonna have to ask you to move this over to the bar area."
I look around to see, besides Hannah, it's just us two in the restaurant room. And Devin Miller.
"Sure, Han," Liam says.
She walks away to get the broom and Devin's eyes follow her.
I feel Liam's gaze on me and force myself to resist looking for just two seconds. I manage one.
The look in his eyes is all warmth. The kind that comes from familiarity. The comfort of a moment you've navigated before.
"Wanna move this to the bar?" He speaks softly.
I look down at my empty glass. "Not really."
I force my eyes to rise and meet his again.
Liam's lips twitch. "Home so early?" He asks in a velvety murmur.
I bite my lip. "Not really."