Page 78 of Hearts on Ice
We headed back toward the street, our pace slowing as the neighborhood started to wake around us. A cyclist whipped past, a dog barked somewhere down the block, and a breeze carried the scent of sugar and spice—comforting and familiar.
“Coffee?” Miguel asked.
“When have I ever said no to caffeine?”
We went to the corner café—a small place with fogged windows, mismatched chairs, and a barista who gave us a sleepy nod frombehind the counter. We ordered espressos and slid into a booth by the window. He sat close—closer than friends could get away with—but far enough that anyone watching would think we were just talking about morning practice.
Under the table, his knee brushed mine. Once. Then again, on purpose.
“Talked to Manu last night,” he said, taking a sip.
“Yeah?”
“Elena made me a good-luck card.” His whole face softened. “She drew me in full goalie gear… but with a superhero cape.”
I laughed. “She’s adorable.”
“She’s trouble,” he corrected gently. “But yeah. Adorable trouble. And smart too. I’ve gotta show you—Manu sent a video.” He pulled out his phone and showed it to me—his niece dancing in her backyard, curls bouncing, yelling something about “Tío Miguel saving the world.” His arm pressed against mine the entire time.
“You adore her,” I said.
“Yeah,” he murmured. Then, quieter: “I want to be someone she’s proud of.”
A beat passed. Something warm settled low in my chest.
“You ever think about having kids someday?” I asked.
He considered it for a moment. “Yeah… I could see it. If life lined up right.” He tapped his cup. “I’d want to love them the way Manu loves her, the way our parents love us. No fear in it.”
I nodded.
But the question lingered between us, heavy with a different kind of truth.
“I always thought I’d have more than one kid,” I said. My voice came softer than I meant. “We tried for years before my wife finally got pregnant. And after the crash… it felt wrong to imagine another child.”
I paused, swallowing.
“My daughter’s frozen in time. Five years old. Missing front tooth. Pink sneakers. Sometimes I can’t imagine something beyond that without feeling like I’m replacing her.”
Miguel didn’t touch me—not here—but he shifted closer, his arm pressing fully against mine.
“You’re not replacing her,” he said quietly. “Love doesn’t shrink. It changes shape.”
The words hit deep. Deeper than he knew.
“She’s part of you, Drew,” he continued. “Nothing you do now replaces her.”
I inhaled slowly, like he’d opened a window somewhere inside me.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe I get to have a future.”
“You do. One step at a time.”
We sat there a while with two cups cooling on the table, morning light spreading across our joined shadows.
Then my phone buzzed.
Instinctively, I flipped it over.
