Crack In The Ice - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

The smell of bacon hits me as soon as I open the door.
I can hear the clatter of plates and silverware in the kitchen as soon as I open the door. Walking in, I find my brother in the kitchen.
Elliott is standing by the stove, with a spatula in hand and a completely naked torso. I can see the waistband of his underwear over the line of the kitchen counter, but no sign of pants. His dirty-blonde beard has been recently groomed, but his hair is longer than last time I saw him and completely unruly.
He looks like a deer caught in the headlights when he finally sees me.
"Eli. You're home."
"Yeah."
"I didn't know you were coming."
"I said I'd come home after the play-offs."
"Yeah, but you didn't give me a date, so I didn't know..." he trails off, "uh... I didn't know when exactly."
The simmering bacon on the fry pan starts smelling like burned meat and Elliott rushes to take it out. I stand by the foyer, hands in pockets, missing the comfort of something to hold that I would have gotten from my luggage. Just for the sake of having somewhere to put my hands. I mentally curse myself for leaving my stuff in the Millers' car yesterday.
"Your shampoo is empty, you know."
Elliott and I both turn to the source of that female voice, just before she emerges from the hallway that takes to the bedrooms.
She stops in her tracks, looking between the two of us.
I know this woman.
I know the shiny blonde hair that now falls haphazardly down her shoulders. I know the big blue eyes currently clean of their usually cateye black liner. I know the pretty lips, at the moment devoid of the usual bright red lipstick. I know the cute little paper plane tattoo on her pale wrist, just beneath the hand holding a bottle of the same generic shampoo brand Elliott has used for years.
I also know the baby blue button-up she's currently wearing. It's one of Elliott's.
"Oh." Scarlett bites her bottom lip timidly, glancing at my brother, who's now suddenly enthralled by the plate of fried bacon in front of him.
I can't remember exactly the last time I saw Scarlett, but I can definitely tell where it was. At The Lodge. Behind the bar counter. Where she has worked as a full-time bartender for the past six years.
"I'm sorry," I say, cutting through the silence. "I should have warned you I was coming."
"No, it's fine," Scarlett says with an apologetic smile, wrapping both arms around herself to help cover what her scant clothing won't.
"I left my stuff in the Millers' car," I say, already turning to the door.
"You don't have to go," Scarlett urges. "Elliott and I were about to have breakfast. We can just go inside to put some–"
"Already ate."
I try to shoot her a quick smile on my way out, but I leave too fast and I think if she did see it, it might have looked more like a grimace anyway.
Outside, I take a deep breath. Determined not too allow myself time to process what just happened, I skip down my porch, ready to head straight for Dean's. Before I can make it too far, another voice reaches me from behind.
"Elijah Blake. I know your parents raised you better than that."
I stop in the middle of the road and turn.
She's sitting on the next-door porch. Dark curly hair loose around her face, Calgary Flames hoodie zipped up all the way to the top, teeth flashing through a grin.
I feel my shoulders physically relax and try a non-grimace-like smile.
"Olie."
She rolls her eyes, standing up as she dusts the back of her jeans. "Gee. I know we haven't seen each other in months, but no need to sound so excited to see me."
The attempted smile from earlier morphs into something more natural. "Sorry."
"You should be." She walks toward me. "Getting home last night and trying to sneak away in the morning without greeting your life-long friends. Shame. On. You."
"I was just going to get my stuff from Dean's."
"Cool. We can walk together," a male voice chimes in.
I look over to the Holmes front door. I was so distracted by what happened in the kitchen with my brother that I didn't notice Olie sitting outside. Then, I was so distracted by Olie that I didn't notice their front door opening again.
Owen hops down the front steps in our direction.
"You're home," I state the obvious.
"I am." He nods.
"Thought you'd only get here tomorrow."
"Found an earlier flight."
I smile, letting Owen come to me. The hug, though unusual, comes naturally.
"Aren't you two adorable," Olie coos.
I roll my eyes at her, pulling away from Owen. "Were you guys on your way to Dean's?"
"We were gonna swing by yours first. See if you were around. Ask if you wanted to tag along. You know. As nice friends who are nice and do nice things." Olie narrows her eyes at me. "Good to see the courtesy would not be mutual."
"C'mon." Owen huffs in that special way he reserves for his little sister, already walking down the street. "Let's go."
Olie makes a point to harrumph, like a deeply annoyed little sister. But we both follow him.
The walk is short and familiar. Dean, Owen and I used to navigate the streets of west Brunson between our houses often. That seems like a lifetime ago now. Before Dean and I moved to Calgary, and Owen went away to Boston for school.
When we get to the Millers' house, the front door swings open before we can knock. Olie yelps, startled, and I steady her with my hands on her shoulders.
Connor Wong, former goalie of the Brunson Grizzly Bears, grins at us. "Here they are."
"What's up, man." Owen smiles – just a little bit, and just because it's only us around.
"'Sup with you, Mr Boston College graduate." Connor claps their hands together before bumping fists. He looks at me next. "And Mr NHL, of course. I have some shit for you to sign, so I can sell online. Dean already said you'd hook me up."
I snort, repeating the same hand-clap-fist-bump sequence he did with Owen. Shaking my head, I say, "Absolutely not. Our agent would throttle us."
"Pff, what she doesn't know doesn't hurt her," Connor says.
"Trouble is," I say. "Zoey knows everything."
Connor points a determined finger at me. "I'll get you to come around. Eventually." His dark eyes land on Olie next. His expression goes intentionally bored. "You, I see every day."
She smiles. "And aren't you lucky."
"Is that Holmes and Blake at the door?" A familiar voice calls from the house, just before Trey Coleman – former Grizzly Bears left winger, future real estate heir – pops up behind Connor.
"Look at you, guys." He grins, running a hand through grown-out dark hair.
"But mostly look at me," Olie says beside me.
Trey smirks, brushing past Connor to wrap an arm around her waist and drop a kiss on the side of her head.
Footsteps from inside announce two more incomers before I see them. Dean all but stumbles out the house to wrap himself around Owen in a bear hug. Like a golden retriever tripping over his own paws to greet his owner at the door. Owen fully commits to the embrace, though, indulging Dean for as long as he wants. He indulges him for so long that I start to doubt it's all completely for Dean's benefit.
James Lowell stands back, moving a pale lock of hair away from his face before waving at me with a contained smile.
"Hey, guys," he says. "Had a nice flight?"
"It was alright," Owen says.
Connor clamps a hand down on James's shoulder and pulls him into his side. "This is cool and all, but we're not actually going to stand out here all day, right? Not that I don't love standing out in the middle of the road with you guys, it's definitely a moment. I just don't wanna get hit by a car."
"Oh, yeah. Better get out of the way before we're hit by all the traffic," Olie says. "Sunday mornings in West Brunson are known for the crazy drivers."
"Ha. You're a real comedian," Connor shoots back.
Olie grins. "Thanks. I don't sign autographs, but I'll allow you to take notes."
"We can head inside," Dean says, interrupting... whatever that was. "It's gonna be a little tight with everyone, though."
"How about – and this is a totally off-the-top-of-my-head idea – we take this to The Lodge," Connor says. "These two brought their cars," he points a thumb at Trey and another at James, "and Dean and Eli owe me a coffee and a huge piece of cake."
I raise my eyebrows. "We do?"
"Sure. You can't go pro without buying your high school homies at least one coffee."
"Oh, I definitely classify as a homie. I'll take one of those obscene slices of triple layer red velvet, thank you," Olie declares, pulling away from her boyfriend's grasp to lean on my shoulder.
"I'll take a coffee too if Blake and Miller are buying," Trey says.
"You can afford your own coffee," Owen grumbles.
Trey shrugs. "They offered."
"Did we?" I ask.
Dean grins at me. "I could go for hot chocolate."
"Sweet. Let's go," Connor prompts, already tugging at James's arm.
Trey snickers, leaning in to us with a conspiratory little glint in his eyes. "He's really in a hurry to see his girlfriend."
"Fuck off," Connor says, lifting two special fingers.
Trey frowns in a look of mock apology. "Oh, I'm sorry. She's not, actually. Because you're too much of a wuss to close that."
Olie scoffs at Trey. "Close that?"
Trey slides his arms around her waist. going soft. "I mean lock her down. Respectfully."
Olie rolls her eyes. "Sure you do."
Trey smiles, not looking all that repentant, then kisses her quickly before starting toward his car.
Dean looks at me, eyebrows drawn in. "Am I missing something?"
"Think we both are," I mutter.
Owen arches his eyebrows at us. "You did move away. You're bound to miss things."
I look at him.
Owen shrugs. "Doesn't matter. They'll probably talk our ears off about this. We'll catch on."