Page 44 of Off Season

“Do we have anything planned today?” I ask, changing the subject.

He shakes his head. “No. I need to review some game tape. I…” He hesitates before continuing. “I need to start thinking about my future after I’m done playing, so I was wondering if you wanted to brainstorm with me.”

My eyes widen slightly. I know that’s been weighing on his mind. I don’t know what I can offer considering I don’t know anything about hockey, but my heart squeezes that he’s opening up slightly. “I would love to.”

After we both shower, we retreat to the living room. Ethan makes notes in his notebook as he watches his game footage while I’m trying to read one of the books he bought me in London. The second I sat down on the couch, hepulled my feet into his lap, and the whole thing feels very…domestic.

He has one hand on my foot, his thumb absently massaging the arch in a way that has me trying to stop myself from groaning. With his eyes fixed on the TV, he scribbles notes on his pad, then sometimes pauses the game to draw something on his pad before pressing play again.

It’s absolutely fascinating. The way his brows furrow in concentration. His lips slightly pursed. By the time he’s filled several pages of his notebook, the game has ended, and another one is about to begin, but he stops it.

“What made you get into baking?”

I glance up from my book to see Ethan looking at me. The TV is paused, his notebook balancing on the arm of the couch.

“My mom,” I answer, slipping my bookmark into the page. “My earliest memories are of baking with her. We’d always make those box mix cupcakes or brownies for my dad, and when Alex was old enough, he would help out too. Although he didn’t really help—he would just try and eat the mixture out of the bowl.” I let out a small laugh, but there’s a heaviness in my heart.

I don’t really talk about them. I usually only look back when I’m on my own, and there’s no one to see the pain that still consumes me all these years later.

“Every Sunday we baked something my mom found in a magazine or a recipe book we borrowed from the library. It became like our thing, so when she passed away, I wanted to keep baking as a way to stay close to her. My grandma actually picked it up with me, knowing how important it was to me. We would do some baking while Alex and my grandpawatched hockey, and when I was old enough to understand the way the world worked, I knew I wanted to make a business out of it. I knew I wanted to carry that tradition into my everyday life somehow.”

“I know you were a child, but how old were you when they passed? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind you asking at all. I was ten, Alex was seven.”

Ethan’s face drops, sadness whirling in his eyes. “Fuck, Jacob. I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head slightly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to silently say thank you.

Glancing down at the book on my lap, I take a deep breath and recall one of the darkest days of my life.

“Me and Alex were staying at my grandparents’ house as my parents had gone away for the weekend to celebrate their twelve-year wedding anniversary. My mom was so excited. She picked out this lakefront cabin that had a hot tub out on the deck, and I helped her make an anniversary cake that she was going to surprise my dad with. It was his favorite, red velvet. But on their way home, they were hit by a drunk driver.” My voice cracks, tears welling in my eyes. “I remember the day the police came to the door like it was yesterday. My grandma told us to go to our rooms and not come out until she came to get us. Alex was too young to understand what was going on. He started doing this puzzle on my bedroom floor while I peered out the window.”

Ethan leans over, taking my hand in his. He gently caresses the inside of my wrist with his thumb, his other hand resting on my knee.

I wipe my eyes with the heel of my palm and sniff.

“When I came out of that room, it felt like time stood still but like I had aged a few years at the same time. I knew something bad had happened because I’d never seen my grandparents cry before. They explained that my parents had been in an accident, and they wouldn’t be coming home.” A choked sob escapes. I quickly hide my face in my free hand as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.

“Alex asked if they’d gone to heaven, and it was that moment I knew I had to be strong for him. I had to put my own grief aside because he needed me more than ever.”

Just like last night, Ethan scoops me up into his lap like I’m as light as a feather. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight as I let my emotions run free.

Society tells you that after a certain time, you’re supposed to “get over it” and move on, even though you’re still numb inside.

But grief is a tangible thing. It ebbs and flows like an active current. At different speeds at different times. Sometimes the wave is small and shallow, a gentle reminder it’s there, but then it grows and becomes huge. It’ll pull you under, leaving you struggling to breathe because the pain is so intense. Making you feel like your heart is being pulled from your chest.

Grief never goes away. It has no expiration date. No timeline. It’s always there, and you learn how to disguise it with time. To hide it behind a mask. But sometimes the mask slips, even over something inconsequential, and the pain washes over you again.

Raw and excruciating.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my hair and presses a kiss to my head. “No child should ever have to go throughthat. I’m glad you had each other and your grandparents, but you’re allowed to grieve, J. You could have grieved and still been there for Alex.”

“I think it was my way of coping. If I squashed my emotions, I could pretend it wasn't real. If I didn’t let myself feel, then it wasn’t happening.” I raise my head to look at him. “My grandparents were amazing, though, as I was in denial for quite some time. They let us handle things in our own way, but also made sure we always felt loved and supported. They never pushed us to do anything we didn’t want to do or weren’t ready for. They were our pillars of strength for most of our lives. But Alex…” I hiccup. “He’s all I have.”

I often find myself questioning if I could have done more. Could I have taken my grandma to the hospital sooner? Could I have showered my grandpa with more love so his heart didn’t shatter the second she took her last breath? Could I have stopped my parents from going away on their trip? Did they know how much I loved them?

Sometimes the questions float in my head like a never-ending tornado I’ll never be able to break away from.

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