Page 47 of Hearts on Ice
Drew smiled, his accent careful but soft. “Gracias.”
Her eyes crinkled. “Muy bien, Coach. Come back soon, sí?”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
Mamá cupped his cheek briefly, motherly and tender, before pulling him into a hug. “Take care of my boy,” she said.
“I will,” Drew promised.
Papá shook his hand next—firm, approving—then pulled me into a hug that nearly cracked a rib. “We’re proud of you, hijo.”
“Gracias, Papá.”
The drive back was quiet at first—the good kind of quiet. The kind that hummed low between us, full of everything we didn’t need to say. Leftover containers shifted in the back seat, the smell of caramel and fried plantain hanging in the air.
“They liked you,” I said finally.
He glanced my way, mouth tipping up. “Your family’s easy to charm.”
I chuckled. “And they didn’t scare you off?”
He laughed under his breath. “Please. The plantains were the real test.” A beat. “They’re good people, Miguel. All heart.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “Guess that runs in the family.”
Something in my chest did a slow, traitorous flip. I looked out the window before he could see how much his words affected me.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “I know this probably isn’t your usual Sunday.”
“Maybe it should be,” he said. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
My throat went tight. “Then I’m glad you came.”
When we pulled up outside my apartment, I had my hand on the door handle but didn’t want to pull it.
“Thanks for all of it,” he said.
“Night, Coach,” I said automatically, then caught myself.
“Drew,” he corrected, smiling a little.
“Right.” My voice came out softer than I meant. “Night, Drew.”
I stepped out carefully, taking my guitar and my containers, making sure to leave his behind. He waited until I openedthe door of my apartment before pulling away. I stood there, watching his taillights disappear, and wondered when home had started to feel like wherever he was.
Chapter 20
Miguel
The rideshare dropped me at the players’ entrance, the one tucked around the side of the Grizzlies’ rink. A thin crescent moon hung over the parking lot, turning the concrete silver. I texted the night attendant, Luis. He buzzed me in, the way he always did when I couldn’t sleep. I told him I’d stay an hour, he told me to text when I was done so he could double-lock the exit. Fair trade.
The building felt half-asleep. Only a few lights burned along the hallway, the air carrying that clean, sharp smell of ice and disinfectant. My footsteps echoed until the sound softened into the steady hum of the compressors below the rink.
Inside the locker room, habit took over. I dropped my bag, tied my skates, pulled on gloves. No crowd, no teammates, just the quiet rasp of laces and the creak of the bench.
Out on the ice, the air hit me first, cold and clean. The chill bit my cheeks as I skated slow circles. I wasn’t chasing drills tonight; I was chasing quiet.
Every time I stopped moving, my head filled up again—Drew’s laugh in Mama’s kitchen, the warmth in his voice when he’d thanked her. Every time I remembered, something shifted in my chest, soft and confusing.
I didn’t want to think about any of that. Didn’t want to ask why I couldn’t stop.
