Page 59 of Iced Out

His response is almost immediate.

Oakley: How’s it going with your parents?

Me: Exactly as expected.

Oakley: That bad?

Me: Well, apparently, I start working with Dad in June, though I have no recollection of making any agreement with him.

Oakley: So it is that bad?

Yep, sure fucking is. But I don’t really feel like vomiting all my feelings about Dad’s ultimatum to him via text, so I turn the conversation on him.

Me: It’s fine. How’s it been with yours?

Oakley: The usual. A lot of extended family came over, since we usually host Christmas. Logan being an absolute terror any time hockey was mentioned. Which is often when Dad and Coach are in the same room.

I frown, reading the name I don’t recognize over again. But no matter how hard I think on it, I can’t seem to place it.

Me: Logan?

Oakley: My younger brother.

Wait, he has a brother?

He’s never once mentioned him in passing. Talking about families isn’t something we’ve done until very recently, but I feel like it’s a topic that would’ve come up by now.

Me: Why did I think you were an only child too?

Oakley: Because I might as well be. When your family has generations of hockey players, but you have no interest in the sport despite years of being coaxed into giving it a shot, you tend to disassociate yourself from said family.

I wince, knowing exactly how it feels. Trade hockey for the de Haas family business, and it’s the exact same thing I’m going through at home.

But at least Logan’s family gives him a choice in how he wants his life to go.

Me: Ouch. I feel for him. Black sheep unite.

Oakley: LOL you would probably get along. He’s as moody as you are. Too bad he would also hate you on principle for being a hockey player.

Me: Moody? I think you have me confused with someone else. I’ve been a ray of fucking sunshine lately.

It’s true. I’ve been a lot less cranky lately, and in part, it’s thanks to him. But information like that is best kept to myself.

Oakley: Yeah, you’re right. I’m probably thinking of the other teammate I’ve been messing around with who loves to make my life hell.

Me: Don’t lie, you enjoy it.

I’m expecting some witty retort or straight-up denial. This is Oakley we’re talking about; he’d probably deny enjoying spending time with me until his dying day.

But I get an unexpected response instead.

Oakley: It’s been weird not seeing you.

My heart hammers against my rib cage a little harder as I reread the text a couple times, hating how much it’s making me smile.

I know exactly what he means, though, because I’ve been feeling it too.

Me: Missing me already, Reed? At this rate, I’m not sure you’ll be able to survive ten days without me.

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