Page 25 of The Pucks We Freeze
About halfway through the movie, he muted the sound and shifted, his voice softer now. “I’m really glad you came home, Wills.”
I glanced over, wondering if he knew his words held so much weight.
“I’m glad too,” I murmured, meaning it.
He exhaled slowly. “I know I didn’t handle things well after your mom passed.”
My chest tightened, and I looked down at my hands, twisting the blanket.
“It felt like the ground fell out from beneath me,” he continued. “One minute, she was driving to the store, and the next there’s a cop showing up at our door…”
He trailed off, but I didn’t need him to finish. I could still remember the call. The stillness. The way the world cracked open and swallowed everything.
“I didn’t know how to be okay without her,” he admitted. “And I sure as hell didn’t know how to help you grieve when I couldn’t even bear to look at her side of the bed.”
A lump filled my throat, and I forced myself to breathe through it.
“I thought if I kept busy, if I didn’t talk about it, maybe I could outrun the pain,” he continued. “But I see now that left you to face it all alone.”
I swallowed hard. “I was angry. You shut down, and I didn’t know how to reach you. So I left.”
“I know.” His voice cracked, rough around the edges. “I don’t blame you.”
We sat in silence for a beat, the kind that says everything you’re still too raw to put into words.
“I never thought I’d feel happy again,” he said finally. “But Lynette… she’s been good for me. It’s not about replacing yourmom. There’s no replacing her. It just feels like I can breathe again, like I’m remembering what it means to want more than getting through each day.”
I nodded slowly. “She seems good for you. I can tell she cares about you too.”
“She does. And I know your mom would’ve wanted this for me, to find peace and be happy again.”
He paused, then looked at me with a hint of regret.
“I should’ve told you about the wedding sooner. You didn’t deserve to find out the way you did. I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that.”
Guilt coiled in my stomach like a slow burn. I’d used my resentment like a shield, convincing myself he’d moved on and that he hadn’t cared enough. But now, sitting here with him finally opening up, it was clearer than ever. I’d been too caught up in my own pain to notice he was doing the best he could just to grieve. Meanwhile, we were both barely surviving.
I drew in a shaky breath, my chest tightening as the weight of it all settled in. I met his eyes and gave a small nod.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I think I was so caught up in my own hurt… I never stopped to think about how hard it must’ve been for you, too.”
His expression softened. “I’ve missed having you here,” he said, his voice low. “Your grin, your laugh. Hell, even your stubborn streak and your half-empty coffee cups you leave everywhere.”
I laughed through the ache in my chest. “Those are my roaming mug collections. I’ve been keeping them for my gallery.”
He chuckled, eyes shining a little. “How’s school going for you? Finding your groove and still loving your program?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s challenging, but I love it. I’m working on a photo essay this semester. I’m thinking of using some shots from the lodge.”
“You always had the eye for photography,” he said. “I still have that picture you took of the lake behind the house. The one with the fog lifting off the water.”
“You kept that?”
“It’s in my office. Been there for years.”
That meant more than I could say. Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. Everly’s name lit up the screen.
Dad gave me a gentle nod. “Looks like college life is calling. You should go take it.”
