Page 73 of Hard Check

"Thank you. He would have liked this, actually. Big family dinners and good food. Ryan always said the best hockey stories happened around kitchen tables."

Dad nodded. "Sounds like he was a wise man."

"He was two years younger than me and twice as smart," Affection blended with grief in his low tone. "Kept me honest."

Mom reached for Carver's hand. "It's important to have people looking out for you. Good influences. People who care about more than just your performance."

Dad nodded. "That's what we've always told Matsson. Find people who see you as more than just what you can do for them. Matsson's lucky to have you in his corner. Not every young player gets that kind of mentorship."

"I'm lucky to have him, too." Carver's comment made my heart flutter. "He's taught me as much as I've taught him."

As we finished our meal and waited for dessert, Mom reached across the table to squeeze my hand.

"We're proud of you." Her voice was suddenly thick with emotion. "I know we don't say it enough, but we are. You've grown into such a fine young man."

"Thanks, Mom."

"We just want you to be happy. That's all we've ever wanted. For you to find your place in the world and be happy."

I stared at our joined hands, fighting the sudden burn behind my eyes.

I managed to squeeze out, "I am happy." It was true. Complicated, terrifying, and uncertain, but true.

"Good. That's all that matters."

When I looked up, Carver watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition. He knew exactly what those words meant to me and why they mattered so much.

For the first time all evening, I allowed myself to imagine what it might be like if they knew the truth. If I could tell them that yes, I was happy, and here was the reason why sitting right across from them, charming them with stories about hockey and making them laugh with his dry humor.

When we returned to my apartment, my parents didn't stick around. They were on their way to do sightseeing in Boston and Vermont.

The apartment felt strangely quiet after hours of conversation and laughter. Carver shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on a hook by the door. I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted.

Carver sat beside me. "That went well. Your parents are good people."

"They liked you." I turned to study his profile. "Really liked you. My mom's already planning their next visit."

"About the conversation..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The stuff about my brother. I don't usually—"

"You don't have to explain." I shifted closer until our knees were almost touching. "But thank you for sharing that with them."

"He would have liked them. Ryan always said you could tell everything about someone by how they talked about their kids."

On the television, some mindless holiday special was playing—animated reindeer dancing across a snowy landscape while cheerful music swelled in the background. Neither of us really watched it, but the soft glow provided just enough light to see each other's faces.

I rubbed Carver's forearm. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Today, at dinner... when my mom said that thing about being happy. You got this look on your face. Like you understood something I didn't even know I was feeling."

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. "My parents never said that to me. Never asked if I was happy and never seemed to think it mattered as long as I was performing."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault, but hearing your mom say it and seeing how much it meant to you, I realized what I'd missed. That was what love is supposed to look like."

Without thinking, I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. His skin was warm, slightly rough from years of handling hockey sticks and gym equipment.

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