Page 3 of Back On Ice

Everywhere I look,I see her.

Sophie.

The sun is high in the sky as I drive down Main Street. It’s just how I remember, like it got stuck in time the day I left. Of course, that comes with constant reminders of Sophie, the girl who my life revolved around the last time I was here. The thought of seeing her again makes my insides feel like they’re twisting up—and not in a good way.

I’m not sure how I thought it would be, but I definitely didn’t anticipate how fucking hard it would be to see Sophie in every part of Ivy Glen. The empty lot of the abandoned theater that was the prime make-out spot for teens back in the day. The town square, where I asked her to be my girlfriend when we were eight years old, and she just looked at me and said I wasn’t “ready for that kind of commitment.”

The bench where we would share ice cream on Thursdays after school.

Every single piece of landscape I pass is soaked in Sophie, and there was a time when I thought it would always be that way.

Until my fucking piece of shit dad took control of my life and ripped everything I loved away from me.

A sign I don’t recognize on a familiar building catches my attention as I approach, but when I read the words, something twists in my chest. “Hart’s Flowers”. How did Sophie get her parents to replace the sign? The thing was falling apart back when we were in middle school, but Danna and Paul just kept repainting it and nailing it back up.

The new sign is one of those backlit ones, and the storefront has a little light purple awning that massively increases the curb appeal. I don’t have time to read the words painted on the windows before completely passing the shop, and I fight the urge to turn back and see if all the changes are Sophie’s doing.

What if she’s in there? My stomach flips with a surprising amount of excitement. I could turn this car around, park in front of the store, and see her face again?—

No. I shake my head as if that might dislodge my ridiculous thoughts and run a hand through my hair. I meet my eyes in the rearview mirror and give myself a stern look.

It’s been nine years. Sophie is no longer interested and has moved on with her life. She might have hated me for it, but what I did back then, how I had to leave her? That was the right choice—my dad didn’t give me any other option. Once he made threats against Mom, against Sophie…

Besides, I’m not here for Sophie. Tom’s been keeping me updated on the status of the rec center and all the repairs it needs, and I’ll be damned if I let the town replace the place that means so much to me with a strip mall.

An obnoxious ringing fills my car, dragging me away from the past. I answer my phone by pressing the button on my steering wheel. “This is Williams.”

“Williams! My man! It’s Lenny.” The irritating, trying-too-hard-to-be-charismatic voice reverberates through my speakers. Fuck, I should have looked at who was calling before answering the damn phone.

Lenny, the team manager for the Vancouver Vultures. No doubt to talk about the contract they’re trying to offer me. I played the last seven seasons with them, ever since I was drafted, and he’s been trying to renew my contract. For the third time this week. “Lenny. Come on, I told you?—”

“Yeah, yeah, that you don’t know, that you want to consider other offers, and you need some time to think. There must be some fine pieces of ass in that middle of nowhere town you’re from if you’re willing to leave the big city.”

A sensation of fierce protectiveness rises in my chest at his words. He knows nothing about this town or what it means to me. Fuck this guy.

“Fuck off, Lenny. Send the proposal over and I’ll take a look. But stop calling me.”

“Sure, sure.” He brushes off my harsh words. He’s used to it, working with hockey players. “But I need that answer soon, Williams.”

Hanging up without acknowledging that, I pull into the driveway at my mom’s house, parking and running my hands over my face. The house looks just like I remember. Two-story colonial houses are not rare in our neighborhood, but the stacked front porches and large white pillars in the front make it obvious how much Dad was obsessed with appearing better off than others. I’ve always loved the blue paint though.

As for landscaping, there’s not a leaf or blade of grass out of place. I’ve been sending her money since I was drafted, to keep the house in order and pay her bills, since Dad essentially abandoned all sense of responsibility at that point.

Staying with my mom had seemed like a no-brainer, but now I’m second guessing myself. I haven’t seen her since I left town, Dad made sure of that. He didn’t allow her to come to any of my games over the last seven years, spinning some story to the media about how she has anxiety in large crowds and “prefers to cheer her son on from the flatscreen at home.”

Even though we’ve talked on the phone plenty, it’s so easy to pretend everything is alright when you can’t see the other person’s face. As I pull my bags out of my trunk, I resolve to make sure she knows Dad isn’t a threat anymore.

It feels strange knocking on my front door, and when Mom answers, she looks more run-down than the last time I saw her. She’s still in her robe and slippers despite it being afternoon, her blue eyes glassy and her black hair spilling onto her shoulders and streaked with considerably more gray.

Back when I was young and naïve enough to look up to Dad, I wished I resembled him more. Now, I count myself lucky that I favor Mom’s side of the family. Having gotten her blue eyes and black hair, I’ve been told how much I look like my grandpa, who passed away when I was a baby.

Guilt eats at me for leaving Mom alone like this, but it could have been so much worse if Dad had been here instead of with me.

“Oh, Carter!” Her eyes light up and she hugs me around my waist. With me at 6’3, her head only comes up to my shoulder. My bags drop to the floor when I wrap my arms around her back.

“Hi, Mom.” A heavy sigh escapes me as I rest my chin atop her head. I don’t think I realized just how worried I had been that she would be upset or angry with me for staying away.

Because it doesn’t really matter that I stayed away for her own good. Keeping my dad happy by becoming his ATM machine and drafting to a team on the other side of the country had kept my mom physically safe from him, but it had clearlydone a number on her mental state. I still can’t shake the guilt, even though I know if I had tried to go against him, he would have just come home and made Mom’s life a living hell.

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