Page 67 of Faking It For Real

"Noted."

I found Gabriel in the living room, where music played from an old stereo system and several couples danced to a lively Latin rhythm. He was watching the dancers with a content expression, a beer in his hand.

"Ethan!" he called when he spotted me. "Come, sit. Beer?"

"Sure, thank you."

He reached into a nearby cooler and handed me a bottle, then clinked his against mine. "To good company."

"To good company," I echoed, taking a sip.

We watched the dancing for a moment in companionable silence. Two of Mia's uncles were spinning their wives around the cleared space of the living room, moving with practiced ease to the music. Several children attempted to mimic the steps nearby, giggling when they stumbled.

"So, hockey," Gabriel said finally. "Mia tells me you're very good."

"I do alright," I shrugged, defaulting to modesty.

"False modesty doesn't suit you, son," he chuckled. "I looked you up. Team captain. Leading scorer. NHL prospects. That's more than 'alright.'"

I wasn't sure how to respond. With my father, any mention of my hockey achievements immediately turned into a critique of what I could be doing better. But Gabriel's tone held genuine interest, not evaluation.

"I love the game," I said simply. "I've played since I was five."

"That's a long time to love anything," Gabriel observed. "Your father played professionally, yes?"

I nodded. "Yes, until a knee injury ended his career."

"And now he wants you to follow in his footsteps? Complete the journey he couldn't finish?"

The insight was so accurate it startled me. "Something like that."

Gabriel took a thoughtful sip of his beer. "But what do you want, Ethan?"

The question caught me off guard.

"I..." I hesitated, genuinely unsure how to answer. "I want to play hockey at the highest level I can."

"That's what you want to do," Gabriel corrected gently. "I'm asking what you want. For your life, for yourself."

I looked at him, suddenly feeling like I was standing on thin ice. "Almost no one asks me that," I admitted quietly. "Except Mia."

His expression softened. "Then maybe it's time someone did."

Before I could formulate a response, Sophia appeared, clambering onto the couch between us.

"Papa, can I show Ethan my rocks now? He promised to look at them."

Gabriel laughed. "Did he? Well, a promise is a promise. Go on, then."

Saved by a ten-year-old rock enthusiast. I followed Sophia upstairs to what appeared to be her bedroom, its walls painted a cheerful yellow and covered with posters of planets and dinosaurs. She pulled a wooden box from under her bed with reverent care.

"This is my collection," she announced, opening the lid to reveal neat rows of rocks and minerals, each in its own small compartment with a handwritten label. "I've been collecting since I was seven."

"These are amazing," I said, genuinely impressed by the variety and organization. "Where did you find them all?"

Sophia's face lit up at my interest, and she launched into a detailed explanation of each specimen's origin and properties. Some were gifts from relatives who traveled, others found on family camping trips or school field trips. One had been a birthday present from Mia, who had splurged on a piece of real amethyst from a museum gift shop.

"Mia always gets me the best presents," Sophia confided. "Even when she doesn't have much money."

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