Page 56 of On Thin Ice

“Okay, I get that,” I said, finishing the last dregs of my coffee and setting my mug off to the side. “I mean, obviously I do. You know what my childhood was like.”

“Yeah, but this was just the usual crap. Locker room jokes, the occasional prank.” He gave a faint shrug, not meant to diminishmyexperience, but rather his. “I let it get to me more than I should.” His gaze skated past me to somewhere just over my shoulder as he spoke, giving me the impression he couldn’t bear to look me in the eye while he fed me what was obviously a lie.

Even though I didn’t fully believe him, I wasn’t about to call him out on it, either. Not when he’d offeredsomethingof himself, even if it was only a sliver of the truth.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for telling me that.”

He blinked in apparent surprise at my easy acceptance.

But Ihadn’taccepted it. Not really. I’d just tucked it away to revisit later.

I pressed my palm to his chest. His skin was warm, his heartbeat slightly erratic beneath my hand. He exhaled, tension visibly draining from his shoulders at my touch.

“Just know that if you’re ever ready to talk, I’m here. I want to know you, Ethan.”

His eyes fluttered shut, just for a second—absorbing my words, maybe. Trying them on for size. Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he whispered, “You already do.”

As he pulled away, something twisted in my chest, a feeling I wasn’t ready to name but couldn’t ignore.

* * *

The dryer buzzedas I folded the last dish towel. Between winning hockey games, we’d fallen into a rhythm of these small domestic moments—cooking, cleaning, existing in this undefined space between roommates and something more.

“I’ll get the next load,” Ethan said, setting aside his iPad and pushing up from the couch.

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I called out with a grin, basket balanced on my hip.

By the time I put everything away, Ethan was back, sitting in my vacated seat, methodically separating our clothes into two piles.

“Remind me again how I let you talk me into washing our clothes together.” His voice was the beleaguered, put-upon one he used out whenever I got on his nerves, but his eyes crinkled at the corners with a suppressed smile as he tossed one of my shirts on top of the rest of my stuff.

I squeezed the back of his neck gently as I passed behind the couch on my way to grab a couple of beers. “We’re conserving water. It makes good ecological sense.”

We’d spent the last few hours sorting the recycling, mowing the lawn, cleaning out the fridge, making sure to toss that weird container in the back that had started growing its own mold colony, and getting caught up on our laundry.

It was quiet.

Domestic. Comfortable.

It was everything I hadn’t known to want, and the realization hit me harder than any check into the boards ever had.

“Should I start the game?” he asked, picking up the remote as I came back into the room.

“Only if you promise not to yell at the screen like a maniac.” I passed him his preferred IPA and dropped onto the couch next to him.

As Ethan queued up the Patriots game, I smiled at the irony. A kid from Ohio watching New England football willingly. I’d chosen the Steelers growing up purely to spite my Browns-loving father—nothing triggered the old man’s vein-popping rage like me in black and gold. Now here I was, converted to Patriots fandom during my years at Thackeray, though less about the team and more about hanging out at the local bar to soak in the atmosphere. Watching with Ethan now, though? Infinitely better.

“No promises,” he said, flicking through the menu to bring up the recording. We’d been on the road—in Boston, no less—so we already knew they’d lost, but Ethan was ride or die and insisted on watching anyhow.

As the broadcast kicked off, I let my leg press against his—casual, easy contact. Nothing sexual.

He didn’t pull away.

A few minutes passed.

I leaned in, just a little more, my shoulder resting against his. Testing the waters.

A few beats passed, and then Ethan lifted his arm and slid it behind me, his hand curling around my shoulder. He tugged gently until I tipped into his side, tucked up against him like this was something we’d done a thousand times before.

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