Page 83 of On Thin Ice

“That’s … he’s exaggerating,” I said, forcing a laugh that I hoped sounded normal.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice filled with so much warmth and sureness that I felt a lump forming in my throat.

The younger boy looked at me with newfound awe. “Can we get a picture with you guys?”

“Of course,” Ethan said, finally dropping his arm, leaving a ghost of warmth across my shoulders.

I immediately missed the contact, which was ridiculous because we’d spent the entire afternoon wrapped around each other.

As the boys positioned themselves between us and their father readied his phone, Ethan leaned slightly toward me and murmured, “So, which tree are we getting?”

The casual ‘we’ nearly undid me. Ethan was talking about decorating our home for the holiday, in public, while taking pictures with fans.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he wasn’t blowing my fucking mind.

The camera flashed, capturing a moment I knew I’d remember long after the Christmas season was over: the exact second I realized Ethan Harrison was trying—really trying—to build something real with me.

When the family was out of earshot, I looked at him, still feeling slightly stunned. “Who are you even?”

He laughed sheepishly, clasping his palm to the back of his neck. “What do you mean?”

I pressed my palm to his forehead. “Do you feel okay? Were you abducted by aliens and replaced with a replica version of Ethan Harrison?”

He shook his head and moved out from under my touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stopped, settling my hands on my hips and leveling him with a disbelieving stare. “Ethan, you smiled. You were nice. You touched me.”

He chuckled, the sound a little breathless. “I just … I remember what it was like, you know? Being that age and idolizing players. I would’ve lost my shit if I’d seen any of them out buying a Christmas tree.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I remember what that was like, too. I was so obsessed with one player that I even picked the same college as him.”

His cheeks went pink, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Right, your totally casual, not-at-all-a stalker reason for choosing Thackeray.”

We started walking again, weaving between the trees, the sound of saws buzzing and kids laughing creating a cheerful backdrop. Ethan bumped his shoulder against mine, the contact brief but deliberate, his profile illuminated by the twinkle lights overhead.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward again, and I was about to tell him that I knew his secret—that beneath all his stoicism, he was nothing but a sentimental sap—when a new voice spoke up from behind us. Softer than the other boys, almost hesitant.

“Excuse me?”

Ethan and I turned in unison to see an older kid—maybe thirteen or fourteen—standing a few feet away, frozen as if unsure whether he should come closer. He was slight, drowning a bit in a black hoodie too large for his frame, dark hair falling across his forehead. “You’re Stryker Bell,” he said, his voice cracking a little.

I stepped forward. “Yeah, that’s me.”

His gaze flicked nervously to Ethan, then back to me. “I saw you talking with those other kids, and you were so nice to them.” He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, and it looked like he was bracing himself to say something that made him uncomfortable. “You’re my favorite player. Not because of hockey. I mean, you’re really good. But it’s not just that.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the determination in his voice. “Oh yeah?”

He shifted on his feet, flicking another glance between Ethan and me. “Yeah. It’s because you’re … you. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not to make people like you more. You’re not afraid of what people say about you. And that means a lot.”

Ah.

I’d been out since my first day of college and had grown somewhat accustomed to being approached by adult LGBTQIA+ fans, but there was something about this kid—something in his eyes that reflected back a younger version of myself that stripped away all my practiced responses.

Suddenly, my tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

As if sensing that I needed a moment to gather myself, Ethan stepped forward to stand by my side. “What’s your name?” he asked.

The kid’s throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed down his nerves. “I’m Donnie.”

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