Page 10 of Back On Ice

CARTER

It’sweird going to a bar in your hometown when you weren’t old enough to drink the last time you were there. The bar that Tom and I walk into, Danny’s Place, is where we always talked about going when I turned twenty-one.

Better late than never, I suppose.

It’s seven p.m. on a Friday so the night life hasn’t quite picked up yet. I feel a little overdressed for the location; most everyone here is in jeans and t-shirts like Tom, and I’m over here in slacks and button up dress shirt. I’ve never actually been inside the bar before, but from what I heard growing up, it’s the go-to bar for locals. The interior is well-maintained and gives off a friendly vibe. Maroon leather booths line the walls, and there are various round tables in the middle that seem like they may be cleared out on the weekend for dancing.

“Hey, Danny,” Tom greets as we approach the bar.

“Tom,” Danny says gruffly, using a rag to dry off a glass behind the counter. Even though he’s probably a couple of inches shorter than me, he’s pretty intimidating. He’s built likea lumberjack and looks the part with his blue plaid shirt, white t-shirt underneath, and neatly trimmed beard. He’s probably in his mid-forties, if the faint streaks of gray in his black hair are any indication.

His eyes land on me, but the only acknowledgement I get is a split second look up and down before he nods and turns to the bar.

Shooting Tom a questioning look, I slide onto an open barstool.

“Don’t take it personally. It took me five years to get to a first name basis with him. He’s just getting our drinks,” Tom says, joining me at the bar.

My brow furrows. “We haven’t given him our order.”

Tom chuckles. “Yeah, and don’t try to give him one either. The man has his ways. Knows just what you need by looking at you.”

This could be interesting.

A moment later, Danny returns to us, one drink in each hand. He slides what looks like a scotch on the rocks toward Tom, and a short glass with some sort of cocktail over to me. The slice of orange peel used as a garnish has me raising my brow. “Old Fashioned,” he grunts at me, then walks to the other side of the bar.

I’ve never had an Old Fashioned, despite knowing it’s a classic. My grandpa used to drink them all the time before he died. I take a tentative sip, the sweet vanilla and caramel notes of the whiskey mix nicely with the citrus of the orange peel.

The slight burn in my throat as it moves down turns to warmth, and I close my eyes a moment, savoring the taste.

Meeting Danny’s eyes across the bar, I raise my glass and nod with a grin. He grunts in approval before moving his attention elsewhere.

Tom takes a sip of his scotch with a smug look. “See? Just what you need.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, but grin as I take a proper drink of my Old Fashioned. I can’t help but think of Sophie, and how if things had been different, if I had gotten an offer from Boston, maybe this would be a regular Friday night thing the three of us did in the off season. The thought causes me to unload what’s been on my mind since we left Town Hall. “I didn’t expect to see Sophie like that.”

“I told you she was passionate,” he mutters, nursing his drink.

“That’s not…” I run a hand through my hair. “It was just… fuck.” A sigh leaves me. I’m not really sure what I’m trying to accomplish here. The Sophie I left behind nine years ago and the Sophie I met tonight are two completely different people. She always had this confidence about her, but in high school, she was quiet, shy, and just radiated happiness. Now, I don’t know what she is, but she’s certainly not quiet and she certainly didn’t look happy. It’s strange to think that she’s grown up just as much as I have, and that I am completely unaware of what her life looks like. What her day-to-day is.

I really have no one to blame but myself for that, but it’s an unexpected punch in the gut just the same.

But fuck, did she look good. Looking at her across the room in that meeting had been torture. She had been so athletically built in high school from years of playing hockey, which, obviously, I found sexy as hell, but in the last nine years, she’s made this transition into a full-fledgedwoman. She’s still built the same, but now there’s the slightest of curves where there weren’t really before. Her long legs had looked even longer because of the heels she was wearing, and that button-up top she had on gave me just the slightest glimpse of the top curve of her breasts.

Fuck.

And then she started yelling at me, and all thoughts of how fuckable her body looked flew out the window. Instead, I was left to look into the pain of her face and know thatIwas the one that put it there.

“Just… can you tell me about her?”

Tom looks at me skeptically, probably because I made him swear to never bring her up unless it was absolutely necessary, but I want to know. My brain is trying so hard to correlate the Sophie I knew to the one I just saw, and it’s driving me crazy.

“You sure?” he asks knowingly. After I give a nod of confirmation, he sighs. “After Sarah passed, Soph moved in with me full time. She’s been helping me with Jordan ever since. Which is great, because Jordan loves his Aunt Fee.”

A smile ghosts my lips when I remember all of us eating at Sal’s, our old hangout, and Sophie bragging about how one of Jordan’s first word was “Fee-fee”. While not her name, it’s the sound that came out of the little guy when she repeatedly sat in front of him saying “Sooo-feee”.

“What’s she been up to all these years? Has she met anyone?”

Tom’s voice lets out a little raspy chuckle. “No, but I wish she would do something for herself for once. She’s been living with me, which is great. But she also manages our parents' flower shop and the Twin Rinks.”

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