Page 12 of Cold Front
I tightened the straps on my pads, keeping my face blank. “Wasn’t my idea of a good time.”
“You’re such a buzzkill, Cap,” Micah teased, tossing a puck into the air and catching it. “Bet you didn’t even talk to anyone.”
I shrugged, standing up and grabbing my stick. “Not everyone needs to act like an idiot to have fun.”
His laughter followed me onto the ice, but I ignored it, focusing on the familiar glide of my skates against the frozen surface.
Practice was the one place where I could shut everything else out. Out here, it was simple—push harder, skate faster, be better. There wasn’t room for memories, for thoughts of what I used to be.
There was a time when I loved parties, though. Back in high school, I was the guy everyone wanted at their table. The guy with the jokes, the easy laugh, the one who always had time for one more round.
That version of me felt like a ghost now, someone I barely remembered. Freshman year at MU had started the same way. I’d been ecstatic to be here—a full ride, one of the best hockey programs in the country, a real shot at the NHL. I’d had balance back then. Hockey, academics, family.
And then it was gone.
I remember the morning before the game like it was yesterday. Mom had called and had the phone on speaker. She told me she’d switched shifts with a fellow nurse at the hospital just so she could be there. Dad had rearranged his entire workday at the factory, but he didn’t mind. “Your first game,” he’d said, and even from the line, I could sense him grinning wide enough to show his chipped tooth, and in my mind’s eye, I could see his calloused hands rough from hours spent at his job. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I remember how they promised to be in the stands early and cheer louder than anyone. And I thought of them constantly that day, knowing they’d be there.
During warm-ups, I looked up at the stands a few times, convinced I’d spot them in the crowd, their faces glowing with pride. After all, they said they would be early, which I didn’t doubt because they were both sticklers for time.
But they weren’t there.
The rink was packed, sure, it was a home game, but still. They always found a way to stand out when I was in high school, even in a sea of faces. It wouldn’t be different now that I was a college student. So why weren’t they there?
Moments before the puck dropped, my eyes scanned the stands, but still Mom and Dad weren’t there.
My stomach had twisted at the thought. I told myself it was nothing—maybe I just hadn’t spotted them, or maybe they’d gotten caught in traffic. They’d been so excited, I couldn’t imagine them missing my game, not for anything.
And when I scored my first goal, I tried to push away the hollow feeling creeping in. I did my best to keep the smile on my face, to play like everything was normal, but in the back of my mind, there was this quiet, nagging thought:Why aren’t they here?
It wasn’t until after the game that I found out why.
I remember stepping out of the locker room, muscles still warm from the game, adrenaline buzzing under my skin. I heard the voices first—Coach AJ’s, low and serious, a kind of gravity in his tone that didn’t belong. And then, I saw the two officers, their uniforms too sharp, too stiff.
Everything in me froze.
When they spoke, it was like the world tipped sideways.“We’re sorry, son. Your parents... They were in a car accident… They didn’t make it.”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
My mind fought to process the words, but they didn’t make sense. I kept looking from their faces to Coach’s, searching for something, anything, that would make it okay. But there was nothing. Just the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
They didn’t make it.
The words finally hit me like a punch to the gut, and the world spun around me. I staggered back, hands pressing against my knees to stay upright. The scent of sweat and ice still clung to the air, mixing with the sharp tang of fear, of something I couldn’t name. I didn’t hear the officers or Coach trying to talk to me. All I could hear was the roar of my own pulse and the silence between their words.
A moment of carelessness—a driver texting his girlfriend—stole my parents away, and there was no getting them back.
The rest was a blur. Funeral arrangements, empty condolences, teammates tiptoeing around me like I might shatter. I’d hardened myself then. Built walls no one could climb. Because if I didn’t feel anything, nothing could break me.
But out here, on the ice, I didn’t have to think about it. The sharpness of the rink, the cold bite of the air, the hum of my skates cutting through the frozen surface—all of it drowned out the memories, the grief that still clung to me like a shadow.
I pushed harder. Faster.
The burn in my legs was all I needed to focus on, the ache in my chest smothered by the speed, the ice that gave under my skates as I leaned into it. I didn’t know if I’d ever get that joy back—the kind of joy I used to feel before the world changed so violently—but for now, this was all I had.
CHAPTER6
