Crack In The Ice - Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Dean whips out his notes app and rewinds the TV.
"How much saffron did he say?" He asks.
"A little."
Dean frowns at me. I shrug.
I watch him rewind a couple more times to make sure he got all the ingredients and steps down. I remember him trying a saffron rice recipe a few months back and not being happy with the results. Apparently he wants to try again.
It's kind of therapeutic to watch Dean during his moments of hyperattention. Especially after the weekend of a particularly heavy session with Dr Wooding.
Dean can get intensely focused about hockey, and cooking, but also random things like the organization of our cabinets or the different types of birds of prey in North America. He often can't keep his mind on the task when we're packing, getting ready to leave, or having a meeting with our agent. But when he zeroes in on a project like this he fully immerses.
And he looks... content.
Like there's nothing in the world he'd rather be doing than sitting on our couch, replaying the same cooking show over and over to write down a recipe he'll probably try to make for dinner.
He notices me staring. "What?"
I shrug.
He looks back at the TV.
"Are you happy?"
He pauses the TV. "What?"
I clear my throat. "Are you happy?"
"Yes."
There's no pause. No hesitation.
I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to ask him 'How?' or 'Why?' without sounding stupid. Maybe he sees my struggle play out in my face, because he says, "By, like, choice. You know."
"You're happy... by choice?"
"Yeah, like." He adjusts in his seat. "I still get sad. But that doesn't mean I'm not happy. Right?"
I'm not completely sure I get it.
"Like, I don't feel happy all the time. But I choose to be happy," he says, like he can tell he's not making himself clear. "Because I have a job I love, and a family who's healthy and who I also love, and I have you guys. I know how lucky I am to have all these things and whenever I feel sad or stressed or whatever, it helps to remember that."
I frown, trying to process what he's saying.
Dean gives me a minute, but eventually asks, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say. "Just had a weirdly intense session last weekend."
"Wanna talk about it?"
The 'no' is locked and loaded on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn't come out. Instead, "I told Dr Wooding about Liam."
Dean nods. "Are you two... still not on good terms?"
"I don't know," I say. "I don't think we've ever really been on bad terms. But I don't know if we've ever exactly been on good terms either."
"Because of, like, the hiding?"
"Yeah. That too."
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"I don't think I know how to talk about it," I confess. "I spent so much time not talking about any of this that I honestly have no idea how to do it.
"You didn't know how to talk about your parents before either," he says softly. "But you tried and it got easier. Right?"
"I guess. I just..." I press my lips together. "I think Liam is ready to, like, move on."
"Did he say that?"
"Yeah."
That wasn't exactly what Liam said. But it was close enough to scare me.
"And that makes you sad," Dean says. It's not a question.
"I guess. It makes me... feel like I fucked up."
"Did you?"
"Maybe."
Dean frowns. "Why?"
"I can't give him what he wants," I say. "Like, I want to. I really want to live in a world where I genuinely don't care what people think and how being out impacts my life and my career. But I do. And I know that's not okay with him. We're kind of... at a breaking point."
Dean adjusts in his seat to face me more fully.
"I don't know how that feels, obviously," he starts. "But I've also seen you really low in the last few years. And it's hard for me to watch you... allow something to happen, knowing it will make you sad."
I look at him.
"I guess what I mean is I would really like to see you happy. And if Liam makes you happy..."
I don't know what to say.
Dean doesn't seem to expect me to say anything, though. He smiles. "Either way. I hope you at least know that whatever you do I'm always here. And Owen. We're not going anywhere."
"Yeah." I smile. "I know that."
Dean glances at his phone.
I snort. "You wanna go make dinner, don't you?"
He smiles sheepishly. "If you want to talk still, it can wait."
"No, it's fine. Go," I say.
We both stand up and I go to my bedroom as he turns into the kitchen. After a couple of minutes of turning my phone around in my hands, I finally search my contacts for Owen's name and press the call button.
I stare at my own face on the screen as I wait for him to pick up.
When he does, his face fills my phone screen, framed by his porch. He looks like he's sitting outside his parents' house, sitting on the front step.
"Hey."
"Hey," I say. "What's up?"
"Not much. You?"
I don't answer.
Owen arches one eyebrow. "You don't usually call."
"I call sometimes."
"You answer when I call," he corrects me.
I shrug. "Same difference."
"Okay."
"How's the job?"
"Good. How's yours?" He shoots back conversationally, with only a hint of amusement.
I roll my eyes, because we both know I'm stalling. "Great," I say.
"How's Dean?" Owen offers up next, letting me know he'll play along with my stalling for as long as I want.
"He's good. How's Olie?"
"She's also good." A little smile betrays him, but he still doesn't say anything. "You guys excited for the play-offs?"
"Mh?"
"The play-offs," he repeats. "Or are we not doing small talk anymore?"
I snort.
Owen waits.
"Can I ask you something?"
He nods.
"Are you happy?"
Unlike Dean, he doesn't answer right away.
"I'm... Trying to get there."
I feel that in the way my grip on my phone relaxes and I let myself ralax back against the headboard.
Nodding, I stare at his face on my screen. "Why  didn't you stay in Boston?"
"I think you know."
"Can you still tell me?"
"I missed home," he says. "I missed my parents and my sister, and you, and Dean, and Brunson."
"But the plan was to leave Brunson."
"Yes, it was."
"And you were doing everything right," I say. "You had the degree. The internship. The job offer."
"I did. It was all going according to plan."
"But that didn't make you happy."
"No. I don't think it did."
I nod and we stare at each other in silence for a moment.
Then, slowly, he adds, "Boston was too big, but it also felt too empty. I was always so focused on sticking to the plan and landing all the steps that I didn't have any time to make connections." He shrugs and the frame wobbles just slightly. "I was lonely."
I know he only said all of these things out loud for my benefit. Dr Wooding's advice about being vulnerable to people to prompt them to be vulnerable with you comes to my mind. I wonder if anyone ever told Owen that, or if this is just another way for him to show his natural leadership traits. Knowing what people need from him at each time. Ever the team captain.
"Dean's happy," I say.
Owen takes a moment to answer, "I believe that."
"It's different for him though, isn't it?" I hear myself say.
"I think so, yes."
"He never really had a plan laid out for him."
He frowns a little, and I feel his state bore into me even through the screen.
"Not like us, you mean," he speaks slowly. It's not a question.
"Dean was never trying to leave Brunson," I say. "He was just going with me where I was going. Right?"
"I think so." Owen nods.
"Is the plan not..." I let that thought fade out. "Did we get it wrong?"
Owen takes a moment. "I don't know."
"Five years ago all I could think about was hockey and getting out. Thinking of a future without hockey, a future stuck in Brunson..." I don't finish that thought either. But I think back to my conversation with Gus.
If I stayed there I'd suffocate.
And I would. I still believe I would.
"We were really young when we made our plans," Owen says.
"Yeah."
"We're allowed to grow and change priorities."
"So you don't care anymore about being the first man in your family to go to college?"
"I do," he says. I see his throat move, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "That's why it's hard, right. I still needed to do it, but I wasn't happy. I needed to leave home, but when I did I missed it. Now I'm home doing the job I had planned to do in Boston. But with my family. I wouldn't have gotten this job without Boston, though."
"So the plan isn't all shit. You just, like, course-corrected."
"Yes."
After a single beat, quietly, I ask, "Was your dad disappointed?"
He takes his time to answer too. "No. I don't think so."
I can tell by his tone that he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"I don't think yours would either."
It's strange. Hearing him say that. Owen is always the one who knows what you're thinking, but doesn't mention it if you don't. He knew I was gay for years and never even hinted at the topic.
But this time it's like he knows I need to hear it before I know to ask.
"I don't think he would've been disappointed whichever direction you took, Eli."
I press my lips together. Like with Dean, I appreciate the words but I can't come up with anything to say back to him.
"Are you thinking of quitting hockey?" Owen asks, almost tentatively. I don't think I've ever heard that tone on him. Like for once in our lives he isn't sure what I'll say. Or even whether he should have asked.
"No," I say. And speaking out loud my certainty in the truth of it doubles. "I still feel like hockey is the only life I want."
"Okay."
"But."
"Yes?"
"When I think of my future now," I start. "Thinking of it without hockey... And thinking of it without Liam..."
Owen gives me a slow nod of acknowledgement.
"They both feel the same," I say. "Like I need both. But I always thought..."
When I once again fail to finish my thought, Owen offers, "... that they're incompatible?"
"Yes."
"Do you still believe that?" He asks. "Honestly."
"I think... Maybe there's a part of me that doesn't." My heartbeat picks up at the admission. Saying this out loud feels taboo. Forbidden territory. Dangerous ground. It feels like giving hope space to breathe.
"There's a part of me that believes I could have both," I say. "He would let me and I could do it. But I don't know if it's just wishful thinking."
"Can I tell you what I think?"
"Yes, please." I sigh.
"I don't think it's wishful thinking."
Hearing Owen say it... The most rational person I know. The friend who's always honest and direct. It makes something loosen in my chest.
"I think your fears are justified to a degree," he says. "But I think if you wanted to take that step you could manage it."
I don't reply.
"And I trust you know if you did... That you wouldn't be alone," he says. "Whatever happens, Dean and I aren't going anywhere. Or Elliott. Or Olie. Or my parents. Or the Millers."
"I know that," I hear my own voice sounding firmer than I expected. Because hearing him say it, just like Dean minutes before, I believe them both.
"Good."
I bite my lip. "Thanks."
Owen smiles. "Any time."
"Say hi to your parents for me, will you?"
"Will do. Say hi to Dean for me."
"Sure thing."
We hang up after that and I see I have a couple of texts from my brother.
The first one is a picture. Scarlet's hand. Wearing the ring Elliott showed me when I was home.
I smile down at my phone and start typing 'congratulations', then change my mind and press the call icon instead.
"Hey," Elliott picks up after a couple of rings.
"Hey. Congrats."
"Thanks," I can hear the grin in his voice. "Scarlet's here. Can I put you on speaker?"
"Sure."
"Hey, Eli," Scarlet's voice reaches me from the other side of the line.
"Congratulations," I repeat. "Hope you know you can't return him after this."
Scarlet laughs. "That's okay. I think I'll want to keep him."
I smile.
"How's it going with you and Dean?" Elliott asks.
"Good."
"We're planning on going to Seattle to see your play-offs game. Scarlet's dad is a fan of the Flames."
"Think he's mostly a Dean and Eli fan. Like most of the town," Scarlet says.
"You should come. I can probably get you tickets," I say.
"Thanks, that'd be great," Elliott says.
"Of course."
"Thanks for the call," he adds.
"Right. Uhm, see you guys in Seattle then."
"See you," Scarlet replies cheerfully before we end the call.
It was short. But small steps are better than no steps.
Also. I need to call Owen again.
He answers almost immediately this time, but the image is unstable. I see the Holmes front porch swing in frame on my phone screen, occasionally cut off by an arm or a stray knee.
"Stop being annoying," Owen's voice sounds.
"Stop being a gatekeeping girlboss," Olie's voice snaps back.
"It's my phone," Owen's voice states firmly as his face comes into my screen.
I bite back a smile. "Hey, Olie."
Her face squeezes into frame from over Owen's shoulder, her grin contrasting with his scowl.
"Hey, sexy," Olie greets me.
Owen rolls his eyes. "What's up. Missed me in the ten minutes since we talked?" He asks, ignoring his siter.
"Don't be a  jerk. Next time he won't call," Olie says.
"I can send her away if you want," Owen says.
"As if," Olie retorts.
I snort. "Actually it's fine. Maybe better she's there."
Olie's smile is triumphant. "Ha!"
"What is it," Owen asks me, ignoring her again.
"I think I need your help."