Page 127 of Hot As Ice

When I was younger, Mom always made my birthdays so special: ice skating, petting zoos, cotton candy machines, magicians, clowns (I’ve never been scared of them), themes based on whatever I was obsessed with that year. She always baked me a three-tiered cake with a little doll made of fondant that resembled me.

She went out of her way to make them all amazing.

I miss her most days, but it’s especially difficult on days like my birthday. After she died, I didn’t celebrate my birthday for years. As I got older, sometimes I just went out to eat with friends. My birthday has been an afterthought for a long time.

But Celeste and Stevie planned a really nice party, and I’m glad it’s mostly friends, cousins, and close family, and not those high society idiots that I can’t stand. Celeste must’ve convinced my dad not to invite them.

Gramps and Uncle Jack are here, of course, and a lot of my female friends are clustered around my grandfather, hanging on his every word as he regales them about his trips to Egypt to see the pyramids, his adventures on safari in Kenya and Tanzania (and how he almost got trampled by an elephant), and how he one time met Ernest Hemingway when he was a kid. Maybe some of these stories are true, but they can’t all be true. Nevertheless, people are enjoying them.

Jack comes over and throws his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in and smacking a kiss on my cheek. “Happy Birthday, kid. You look happy. Your girl’s a smoke show, and you’re back winning hockey games again. Life is good, yeah?”

“Pretty good, yeah. Thank you.”

Jack squints at me. “But not perfect.”

“Nothing can be perfect.”

“What’s eatin’ ya? You can tell your uncle.”

“It’s nothing, Jack.”

“It’s not nothing. Ever since you were a little kid, you’d get that look on your face when you were unhappy with something but didn’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s just…” I trail off.

“Your dad? He has a way of sucking all the air out of a room. He’s an energy vampire.”

“He’s an everything vampire,” I mumble.

Jack throws his head back and laughs. “True.” He sips his cognac, his gaze on the partiers on the dance floor.

“So, what is it?” Jack insists. “Come on, this is a safe space.”

I glance at him. Is it a safe space? I don’t know how much I should tell him, but the urge to tell him is strong. He and my father have never been close. Jack is ten years younger than my dad, and I don’t think they ever really bonded growing up.

I turn and face my uncle. He turns toward me, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Did you notice Celeste’s broken arm?”

His eyes shift away as he swirls his cognac. “Yeah. She fell, she said.”

“You believe her?”

He looks at me. “Why shouldn’t I?”

I sigh and look back onto the dance floor. Celeste, Becca, and Stevie are dancing and laughing together. Some of my hockey teammates are dancing too, clearly already drunk as skunks. Jamie and Ryder are leaning against the opposite wall, watching the dancers. Everyone looks like they’re enjoying themselves.

“I think Dad did it,” I say, tired of beating around the bush.

Jack exhales. He doesn’t say anything for a long time. A Sabrina Carpenter song comes on and all the girls start singing out loud. Stevie spots me and smiles, blowing me a kiss. Holy shit, I’m so glad she’s safe from that fucker for good. Ryder said he checked Joe’s grave for a week and the asshole is well and truly dead. He has to be. What was he gonna do, dig his way out with his hands taped behind his back?

One problem solved, one more to go.

I glance at Jack. He’s frowning, a deep crease marring his forehead. When he realizes I’m staring at him, he says, “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Ben has changed.”

“You always do that,” I accuse.

“Do what?”