Page 28 of From Ice to Home
But this time…this time it’s the worst.
7
LUCAS
Idon’t know what I expected.
Maybe I thought showing up would fix everything—that seeing her would remind us both why we made this crazy decision in the first place. Or maybe I thought we’d have an argument at worst. Then we could hash things out, leaving no doubt about where we stood. What I didn’t expect was the feeling of disappointment and regret I saw in her eyes. I know we didn’t make the wisest decision, but knowing that she wishes it never happened?
She thinks there’s nothing between us…nothing but a past.
There’s this sinking feeling deep in my gut, the kind that hits when you know something’s broken and you don’t have the tools to fix it.
If I weren’t in the middle of the playoffs, I’d be on my way to the nearest bar right now. Hiding away until I had to leave again tomorrow morning. But this is Georgetown, which means there’s a good chance my father already knows I’m back in town. If I skip out on going home, I’ll have another issue that needs fixing. Our relationship is already rocky. If I toss another spanner in the works, it might just break apart completely.
Besides, I’m not going to drown my sorrows and my hockey career along with it. Hannah might’ve taken a big part of me. The biggest part.
But she can’t take the game from me.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel, frustration clawing its way up my throat. I’ve never felt this helpless before in my life and it’s eating me alive.
When I saw that photo of her on social media, I didn’t hesitate. I had one thing on my mind.
Go get my wife.
In hindsight, it might’ve been better to at least let her know I was coming. Perhaps then she would’ve reacted better. Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference at all. Who knows if she’s even been reading my messages. She hasn’t picked up the phone or sent a message for a week. If that’s not her telling me she doesn’t want this…
My jaw tightens.I should’ve known. I’m an idiot.
But the desperation at getting her back and the anticipation of seeing her again overridden every rational thought.
I didn’t think.
Just like in Vegas.
It’s what Hannah does to me. When that girl walks into a room, my mind goes haywire. It’s been that way ever since she walked into that tutor centre. Her golden hair braided down her back, her green eyes bright and inviting. I immediately jumped up to help her carry all the books she brought along to help me out, desperate to be useful to her in some way or another.
I shake my head, turning off the main road where the sign reads:Walker Family Farms. The tyres hit gravel, softly crunching beneath the weight of the truck. Driving down the tree-lined lane, the giant branches and leaves offering shade and protection, a strange feeling stirs in my chest. In the distance, the plantation house comes into view. It’s been in ourfamily for generations, a testament to tradition and resilience. Its whitewashed facade gleams in the morning light, the wraparound porch framed by sturdy columns that seem to anchor it to the earth.
And there he is—my dad.
Standing on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest, the morning rays hit the grey streaks in his hair. The lines on his face look deeper than I remember. If he’s not in the fields or in the barn working, it can only mean one thing.
He’s expecting me.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I approach. The closer I get, the heavier the weight of home presses down on me. This house, this land—it’s in my blood. No matter how far I’ve gone. But coming back always feels like stepping into a past I can’t seem to reconcile with the life I’ve built.
I haven’t spoken to my dad in a while. Not really. After my mother’s death when I was sixteen, things took a turn in our home. It was clear she was the glue holding all of us together, the buffer between my dreams and my dad’s expectations. When she was gone it widened the cracks in our relationship…and then I made it worse. I took the NHL contract instead of staying here to work with him, turning my back on the life he’d been grooming me for ever since I could hold a wrench or steer a tractor.
Pulling up in the driveway, my dad’s posture is stiff and his expression unreadable. The resemblance between us is uncanny, down to the trimmed beard. Getting out of the truck, the door closes with a thud behind me. I tip my hat toward my dad as a small acknowledgment before grabbing my duffel from the truck bed, slinging it over my shoulder.
“Pastor Mark called,” he says, his voice heavy with everything he’s not saying. “I should’ve known you’d go over there before you came here.”
“Great.” I force the word out, keeping my tone flat. I climbthe three steps toward the front door and instead of stepping aside to let me in, he stands firm.
I sigh, looking up at him. “I’m here now, Dad. I should’ve called.”
He huffs, sharp and filled with more frustration than anger. His expression softens slightly. “You’re always welcome, Lucas.”
