Is he…?
He grips the shovel tightly, his cheeks red and his hair damp. He walks carefully across the slick surface, sits on a rock, takes off his boot, and slides his foot into one skate, lacing it up with practiced precision. Then, Michaels does the same with his second skate. He places his foot on the ice and stands.
I hold my breath.
He didn’t clear a huge space, but trees sheltering the edges of the pond also protect it from snow, so there’s enough raw ice that he can glide around in a circle, his movements elegant as his feet dance around each other.
His face lights up with a breath-taking smile, and he looks so fucking proud of himself. He moves faster, furrowing his brow in determination, and I see a flicker of the self-assured hockey player he was—the man I obsessed over every time I saw him in the arena.
But just as Michaels makes another pass under a grove of trees, his skate catches on something, and he spins out ofcontrol, crashing to the ground. He lands on his hands and knees with a strangled cry.
Without a thought, I launch off the porch, treading through the snow toward him. He hears me coming and his head snaps up, his flushed, tear-streaked face pointed in my direction.
“Don’t.” He holds up his hand. “Please.” His voice cracks, and he falls back onto his ass, burying his face in his gloved hands to hide a muffled sob.
I skid to a halt, unsure if I should actually listen to him. He starts crying in earnest, and drops his hands, beating the ice beneath him.
“Stitch, stop!” I yell. “You’ll break the ice.”
He screams, the cry so raw and angry, like a caged wild animal. I want to go to him so fucking bad. His breathing has picked up, and he’s panting and clutching his chest.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, as I stumble toward him.
“Wait,” he croaks. “My inhaler.” He points to his coat, which is discarded on the ground to my left.
I reach for it, rifling through the pockets as panic seizes my limbs.
He has a fucking inhaler?
I find it and shove it in my pocket so I have my hands free for balance as I walk as quickly as I dare onto the ice. I slip and slide over to him, crashing to my knees when I reach his side. He’s gasping for air around his sobs, tears streaming from his reddened eyes.
I pull the inhaler from my pocket and hand it to him. He shakes it and presses it to his lips, releasing the medicine with a soft hiss. He takes a deep, steady breath, and I pull him to me, holding his shaking body in my arms.
“You’re okay,” I murmur, trying to sound as soothing as possible.
He takes a second pull, then looks at me miserably. “I’m sorry.”
“Shhh, baby; let’s go inside.” I offer my hand, and he takes it.
I walk to the edge of the pond while he glides behind me. When we get there, he sits and I kneel so I can untie his skates and pull them off. Then I grab his boots and push them onto his feet, not bothering with the laces.
Michaels watches me the whole time. “This reminds me of when you patched up my hand.” He gives a tearful laugh. “You’re always cleaning up my messes.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t like that, and you know it.” I place a gentle hand on his knee. “It’s okay to let people take care of you, Brantley; it doesn’t make you weak.”
His eyes glimmer with fresh tears that trickle down his flushed cheeks. “It’s not that I think it makes me weak. I just never thought I was worth being taken care of.”
I use my thumb to wipe away his tears. Then I take his hand and pull him to his feet. “That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
“What about when I said that I like Costco hot dogs better than yours?”
“Even dumber than that…”
Our fingers twine together as I lead him inside. Fi’s in the living room, and she glances up from her bowl of cereal when we enter. She looks like a wet dream, still sleep-rumpled in shorts and an oversized, threadbare Whitmore U hockey T-shirt.
Her eyes widen when she takes in Michaels’s state, and she stands from the armchair, setting her dish aside. “What’s going on?”
Michaels stops abruptly, pulling me to a halt as well, and I turn to look at him. He’s staring at Fi with so much emotion, I feel it wash off him in waves.
