Page 54 of From Ice to Home
“What are you going to do with your apartment?” Liz asks, the question feeling too heavy. “You love your place.”
“I know,” I say, looking out the window again, the thought of letting that place go more difficult than I thought. Moving to Durham was one of the best decisions I ever made. It was the first time it felt like I stood on my own two feet. I stayed there the entire time I was in school, building a life that felt like mine.
“I guess I’ll have to talk to Lucas about what we should do. Maybe my brother can stay there when he starts at Duke in a few months. I already signed the lease, so if I don’t have to back out of it, that would be great.”
If Micah stays there, I wouldn’t have to back out of the lease. Plus, it saves my parents from having to go down there and search for a place for him.
“It’s an option,” Liz says. “Until you figure out how you feel about everything. Just know that you don’t have to rush into anything you don’t feel ready for, Hannah.”
I let out a shaky breath, my fingers toying with the edge of my sweater. I appreciate her words, but it doesn’t feel like they fit. Not anymore.
“I kind of already did, didn’t I?” I say softly.
“Well, yeah,” Mona pipes up without hesitation, her tone as blunt as ever.
“Okay, from here on out then,” Liz counters, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve got time and you’ve got options. Focus on what’s in front of you right now. Like getting that man to buy you a proper ring. And remember to phone us for the big things. We want to be a part of it.”
I appreciate her words, but they don’t bring me anycomfort. Because even though I have a million questions about family, leases, school…one thing I’m sure about is Lucas. I’m married to him, Iwantto be married to him, and that makes things both simpler and more complicated at the same time.
“Of course, I will,” I say softly, a smile tugging at my lips.
“And tickets!” Mona shouts in the background. “And locker room passes! We want to see the NHL up close!”
I can help but laugh. “I can’t promise anything but I’ll keep you updated.”
“Stay strong, Han,” Liz says, her voice warm and reassuring before ending the call.
Even though one thing is dealt with, telling my best friends the news, it feels like somehow seventeen more things were added to the ‘worry about’ list. But I know I can do this. I just need to focus.
I need to talk to Lucas.
I need to pray about it.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The weight of it all feels impossible, but I’m holding on to my belief that God wouldn’t bring me to this, just to leave me stranded.
After taking my bath,I slip into the pair of soft black tights I found at the top of my bag, my favorite thing to wear for comfort. The bathroom is warm and humid, the faint scent of my lavender soap lingering in the air as I open the door and step into Lucas’s bedroom. His room is spacious but simple, the dark hardwood floors contrasting with the light gray walls. A large bed sits in the center, its navy-blue comforter neatly smoothed out, with two fluffy pillows stacked at the head.
I pad across the room, my bare feet brushing against the plush area rug near the bed. It feels strange being here—like I’m stepping into someone else’s world. This room is differentfrom the rest of the house. It’s lived in, and it’s clear who it belongs to.
Unable to help myself, I make my way to the closet. The doors slide open easily, revealing a neatly arranged row of shirts, jackets, and of course, his hockey jerseys. I reach out, running my fingers across the fabric. I pull out the blue, white, and red jersey—the unmistakable colors of the Rangers. The number 7 and ‘WALKER’ is stitched across the back.
I slip it off the hanger and pull it over my head, the oversized jersey falling past my hips. I lift it to my nose, the scent so distinctly Lucas—clean, woodsy, and a little like fresh ice. The scent burrows deep into my chest, calming and unsettling me at the same time.
My husband.
The word feels foreign and yet entirely real.
I turn back to the closet, chewing on my lip. My half-open bag near the end of the bed is mocking me.
Should I unpack? And if I do, where?
I don’t want to move any of his things without asking him first. Everything in this room adds to the feeling that this is his personal space. From the framed photo of him, Noah and his mother on the bedside table to the hockey stick leaning in the corner by the window. His ‘Walker Family Farms’ cap is hanging on the doorknob of his closet door and his Bible is next to his bed—a reminder of who he is and where he comes from.
I hesitate, glancing toward the bed. Should I sleep here? Or would he expect me to take one of the guest rooms? We’re married now, and I know that means sharing a life—and a bed—but it all feels so rushed. The memory of our wedding night flashes in my mind, and my cheeks heat at the thought. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be with him that way again, but there’s so much more to it than that. We haven’t even talked about it. We haven’t spoken about how it was our first time, orwhat it meant for either of us. I don’t want to jump ahead again, especially since everything has already happened so fast. Maybe now is the time to slow down, to think, and to let our hearts catch up with our decisions.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath my weight. The sheets smell like him too, and I lean back, staring up at the ceiling. I don’t even have my favorite pillow here, or the soft blanket I always use when I read late at night. Most of my belongings are still in Durham.
Everything in this house is his.
