Page 86 of Melt the Ice

Elliott has put together some impressive evidence. He followed the guy driving the white truck from an airport in Texas to Florida. Phone calls with my father and Damien. His mom’s death was officially ruled as murder, not suicide, thanks to a neighbor's camera that picked up a man breaking into her house. That wasn’t easy for either of them to handle, but luckily, they leaned on each other instead of Lucas running to Don Julio.

The difference between the friendships I’ve had my entire life and the family I’ve gained here is night and day. This is friendship, this is family. And as much as I hate the years I’ve lost, I couldn’t be more thankful that all roads lead me back to Florida.

Rory, Jackson, and I step through the arena doors decked out in our Monroe jerseys. The signature smell of fried food and popcorn infiltrates our senses the second we’re inside. This arena is massive, and it’s beautiful as far as stadiums go. Always clean, friendly employees, and an atmosphere that breeds team spirit.

“I thought it’d be colder in here,” Rory says as she looks around, wide-eyed as she looks up at the top section. “How do they see from up there?”

Jackson laughs, ushering us to our seats in the front row, right behind the bench. “Hey guys!” Hannah yells. A tall blonde stands next to her and Abby, talking animatedly with a man who looks around Miller’s age. “This is Mr. Collins, he owns the team, and his daughter, Savannah.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the older man says, “Hannah told me you ladies wanted season tickets for these seats instead of sitting in the family box. I had to come see what all the commotion was about.” He winks, chuckling as his daughter rolls her eyes.

“I’m Savannah, but most everyone calls me Sav or Sunny.” She holds her hand out, shaking each of our hands. “I’m in town for the weekend, but I’ll head back to Colorado on Monday. Couldn’t miss a game though.”

“You don’t live here?” I ask when our hands drop.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m working for a team in Colorado.” She puts her hand on the side of her mouth before loudly whispering, “Dad says I’m a traitor. But I can’t work for him, it’s weird.”

“It wouldn’t be weird if you just took over so I could retire,” he quips.

“I don’t want the team, Dad. I like working in recruiting.” She responds like he annoys her, but the sparkle in her eye says she’s just having fun winding him up.

Before anyone else can say anything, Amy and William Wilder, along with Tate, come walking down the stairs. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting them over the past few months, and it’s still weird to me that the Wilder brothers have such supportive, loving parents. “What’d we miss?”

“Nothing, Mama Wilder,” Abby says, a smile creeping across her face.

The lights dim, and Rory bounces in her seat next to me. “This is awesome,” she whispers as the announcer starts to hype up the crowd. We purposely missed warm-ups so he wouldn’t see us in our gear.

“Gotta go, guys, see you later!” Abby yells, kissing Tate on the cheek before she runs down the aisle.

“I don’t know how I feel seeing her in another man’s jersey,” Tate complains, arms crossed over his chest. But he, too, is wearing Lucas’s jersey.

“Didn’t she show up in Zeke’s jersey to your game one time?” Hannah asks.

His eyes fly to hers, his scowl deepening. “You’re not helping.”

The announcer starts to call out the starting line of each team. We clap and yell for all of them, but when they get to Lucas, all of us bang on the plexiglass. The sound is loud enough to get him to turn his head, and when he does, all of us turn around, revealing the number 26 and his name across our backs.

When I look at him over my shoulder, his mouth is open, and the light catches on his face just right, which makes the shine in his eyes more visible. His head drops back behind him, his lip pulled into his teeth as his shoulders rise and fall more rapidly with every breath. Wilder puts his hand on his shoulder, offering him a smile as the national anthem is sung.

The second it’s over, though, he’s skating at a speed way too fast for the distance he is from us. Sliding to a stop seconds before running into the glass, he holds his gloved hand up, and I put mine over it. Jackson places his hand over mine, followed by Rory and Hannah.

Lucas has seen pictures of Rory, but never met her in person, so when his eyes land on her, water springs to them once more. He lets out a watery chuckle that can be heard over the noise of the arena. When his eyes meet the owner, he straightens, pulling his hand off the glass like he’d been burned. Mr. Collins just smiles before putting a closed fist to the glass for Lucas to dab with his own.

They play their hearts out, and Lucas scores twice, pointing at us each time. The Hawks win four to one, and the second Lucas sees us in the family area, he drops his bag and runs, throwing his arms around his dad and me. “You don’t know how much that meant to me,” he whispers, voice shaking.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Rory says from the side.

When he pulls away, his chin almost meets his chest as he looks down at her. She’s tiny, not even reaching his shoulder. He holds out his hand, and she scoffs, “I get dragged from my hotel room to meet my cousin, and all he gives me is a handshake, no.”

A quick bark of laughter leaves him as he opens his arms and wraps them around her shoulders. “Yeah, we’re definitely related.”

Hannah claps next to us when her husband comes out. “Let’s go celebrate! You guys up for it?”

Nodding, we all walk out together, Lucas falling in line with his dad behind me. “Thanks for being here, Dad.”

Jackson’s quick intake of air feels like it sucked all the air from the hallway. “I…”

“Don’t make it weird,” Lucas says, clapping him on the shoulder like he’s done a hundred times before.