Page 37 of Snowed In With the PUCK

Eventually, I’m going to have to go back to that house and deal with this.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I’m just going to sit here, drink this beer, and pretend like I have everything under control. Even if it’s all slipping through my fingers.

***

I walk into the Stanton house feeling the familiar blend of exhaustion and adrenaline. The last of the holiday games are behind me, and it’s been one hell of a week. Three games in five days, plus all the off-ice activities—charity events, hospital visits, meeting fans. I should be relieved, maybe even proud of how we’ve been playing, but as I close the door behind me, all I can feel is the heaviness of the silence.

The house feels cold. Not physically—it’s warm, the heat doing its job—but there’s a chill in the air between Jessica and me that has nothing to do with the temperature.

I step into the living room, half-hoping she’s not home, half-hoping she is. When I see her sitting on the couch, typing away on her laptop, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. I haven’t seen her in days. Haven’t really talked to her either. The last few conversations we had weren’t exactly pleasant, and I haven’t been around much to fix that.

“Hey,” she replies, glancing up briefly before focusing back on her screen. Her voice is flat, professional. Not cold, not warm—just… neutral. From her remote work days, I know this is the same tone she uses in meetings, with clients, with people she doesn’t really care about. It’s not the way she used to talk to me.

I shift on my feet, unsure of what to say next. “Busy day?”

Jessica nods, still not looking at me. “Yeah, just catching up on some work.”

“Right.” I move toward the kitchen, needing a distraction. I open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and take a sip, trying to gather my thoughts. The tension in the room is suffocating, and I hate it. I hate that this is where we’ve ended up, that we’re tiptoeing around each other like strangers when we used to be… something more.

I turn back to her, leaning against the counter. “Listen, Jess. About everything—about how I treated you, when you were just trying to help—I’m sorry.”

She finally looks up at me, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to apologize, Eric.”

“I do,” I insist, stepping closer. “You were just trying to do something good, and I shut you out. It wasn’t fair.”

Jessica closes her laptop and sets it aside, leaning back on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes flicking over me like she’s trying to decide how to respond. “You were right,” she saysfinally, her voice steady. “It wasn’t my business. You don’t need my help to find your mom.”

There’s no bite to her words, but the way she says them makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. It’s not anger—it’s resignation. Like she’s already decided to pull away, to stop caring.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to—”

“It’s fine, Eric,” she cuts me off, her tone cool but not unkind. “I get it. You don’t owe me an explanation. You were right. It’s not my place.”

Her words hang in the air, and I can feel the distance between us growing with every second that passes. I thought apologizing might fix things, might make her see that I wasn’t trying to push her away. But now, standing here, I realize it’s too late. I waited way too long. She’s already put up her walls.

“Okay. I respect your decision,” I say, my voice tight. “I’ll go to Vegas on my own, then. I’ll meet her without you. Maybe that’ll be easier.”

I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I’m hurt, or maybe because I want her to fight back, to say that she still wants to help, that she still cares. But she doesn’t.

Instead, Jessica’s eyes flash with something sharp, something I can’t quite place. “Great,” she snaps back, her voice drippingwith sarcasm. “You might as well stay at that new place you were looking at downtown while you’re at it.”

I freeze, caught off guard. “What?”

She stands up, crossing her arms over her chest. “The house hunting, Eric. You didn’t think I’d find out? The whole world saw that picture of you and the real estate agent. I figured you were just getting a head start on moving out.”

My stomach drops.

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, trying to explain. “I wasn’t planning on moving out tomorrow or even next week. I was just looking. That’s all.”

“Just looking?” Jessica laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Eric, you’ve been avoiding me for days, staying at Ryan’s, and now you’re out looking at new places? What am I supposed to think?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t have an answer. I have been avoiding her, staying at Ryan’s place, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. And now it’s all coming back to bite me.

“Look, it’s for the best anyway. We are only here temporarily. It’s just… You could have told me,” she continues, her voice quieter now, but full of frustration. “You could have given me a heads-up, instead of letting me find out from social media.”

---