Page 65 of Home Ice

Oh my god, am I his girlfriend? He's never said the word, and we've never discussed it. That has to mean I'm not, right? I don't know how this works. Even after Tyler moved in with me, he never called me his girlfriend. Em always told me that was a giant red flag, but she's never dated the same man for more than a month. What would she know? Do adults even label these things? Isn't that kind of middle school to declare someone a girlfriend or boyfriend? I don't know. But I want the label.

Once I have everything put in its place, I hurry to Bridges to pick Chloe up. I hope for a chance to talk to Michael alone, so I can really find out how Chloe is doing. We've talked on the phone, and she's tried to tell me that she's fine. But she's not. Unfortunately, she's waiting on the porch with Silver when I pull up out front. She's at the side of my car as soon as I come to a stop. I'll have to text him later to talk about her.

"Ready?" I ask, even though the answer is obvious.

She opens the back door for Silver and then takes the passenger seat beside me. "I guess. We're not going to be gone all day, are we?" She's trying to act disinterested, but I know her well enough by now to see that she's looking forward to this. And that makes me even happier.

It was so hard seeing her shattered the other night. I know it'll take a lot of time and work, but I want her to be herself again. The new version of herself. I've learned that you can never go back once you've been broken. But you can rebuild yourself and be just as good, or even better, than you were. I don't know exactly what my relationship is with Chloe—friend, mentor, role model—but I'm going to be here for her to make sure that she comes out of this stronger than before. I'll be here for her like my dad was for me.

Chloe doesn't say much on the ride to Brant's, and I don't press her. It's enough for her to know that I'm here, and that I'm never giving up on her. Besides, replaying my conversation with Sammy over and over doesn't leave a lot of mental room to force a discussion.

When we pull into his driveway, Brant already has his SUV backed out of the garage, and he's sitting on the bumper waiting for us. "Are you two secretly related?" I ask Chloe.

"I wish. I wish I was related to someone with hockey money."

"Chloe!" I hiss at her. "Things shouldn't be about money."

She rolls her shoulders. "Maybe not, but money is nice. I mean, just look at his car versus yours."

"Chloe Alaina! Don't you dare insult Sebastian! You'll hurt his feelings."

"And he'll do what? Make the glovebox pop open onto my knees again? I'm just saying that his car is nicer than yours."

I rub my hand over the top of the steering wheel. "Don't listen to her Seb. She doesn't mean it." I try to elbow Chloe to force her to apologize, but she's already half out the door.

Brant barely says hi to us, and only gives Silver one treat—a record low for him—before he herds us into the car. He still won't say where he's taking us. Not even when Chloe asks him over and over. She words it just a little differently each time, as if that might get him to slip up and tell us. But he doesn't crack.

Every couple of minutes as he drives, Brant looks at me and then at Chloe in the backseat and he gets just a hint of a grin. It's really just a twitch in the corner of his mouth. If I didn't know him, I might not even notice it. But I do.

After about fifteen minutes of this, and at least six or seven of the hidden grins, we pull into a parking lot. "Little Dell Reservoir?" I ask when I see the sign. "What is this?"

He turns to me as he shuts the car off. "Little Dell Reservoir," he imitates the narrator of a PBS documentary, "was constructed in the middle of the eighteenth century by some of the earliest Mormon migrants to the area. It has always been a prized source of water for Salt Lake City, and even today provides nearly sixty percent of the drinking water for the metropolitan area."

"How do you know this?"

"I don't," he says. "I just made all that up." Chloe snorts in the backseat, and I glare at her. "I don't know what it is. I just know it's always really pretty, and I wanted to take my girls here on what might be the last warm day before spring."

His girls? His smile is so broad, the creases at the corners of his eyes are just starting to show. What will they look like in twenty years or thirty when they become wrinkles? Will I be with him to see them? Oh my god, I want to be with him then. I think I'm going to hyperventilate.

"That was a good one, Brant," Chloe says, oblivious to the walls that are shattering around me. "You can always get her on stuff like that. Come on, Silver. Let's go pee in the city's water supply."

"You will do no such thing, young lady!"

Chloe laughs. "See what I mean? Too easy."

I bury my head in my hands, pretending I'm embarrassed, but really, I need to hide my face from Brant. I know what he'll see if he looks at me, and I'm very much not ready for that. I force myself to exhale. "That girl," I say.

"That girl is great," Brant says. Chloe is already out of the car, so she doesn't hear him say it. But she needs to. She needs a life full of hearing that.

"She is great." I take one last breath and look up, hoping it's been enough. "You're pretty alright too."

Brant gapes at me in mock surprise. "Wow, that is glowing praise from someone who once told me that Shakespeare is overrated."

"Oh, shut up." I slap at his arm, but he catches my hand. "That was a text in the middle of the night, and I was half asleep. Besides, have you ever tried to read his stuff?"

"I have. His writing's genius. So beautiful." He raises my hand and presses his mouth to each knuckle. My heart pounds louder with each kiss until I'm sure he can hear it.

"We should…"

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