Page 32 of From Ice to Home
I pick up the toolbox and wrap my arm around his shoulders, nudging him toward the house. Noah whistles to Hazel, who wags her tail and follows us back home eagerly.
“You know, you’re a senior next year,” I say, trying to lighten the mood between us a little. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go after school? Something you want to study?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” he says, his voice quieter than I’d like.
“So then think about it,” I urge him.
He shakes his head. “I can’t leave dad here alone.”
My heart aches for my little brother, who has already taken up so much responsibility onto his own shoulders. Responsibility that should’ve been mine.
“I’ll tell you what, Noh.” I stop walking and turn to him. “Take the time and figure it out. My contract ends next year, so I’ll be open to coming back.”
“Lucas—“
“No,” I cut him off gently. “If there’s something you want to go do, Noah, then you should be able to.”
He stays silent for a while as we continue toward the house, our footsteps crunching on the gravel. We veer around theback and head toward the barn. Inside, the smell of hay and old wood hits me, familiar and grounding. I haul the toolbox onto the shelf, adjusting it to make room for the other tools scattered about.
Noah leans against the workbench, elbow resting on the rough wood as he watches me, the silence stretching between us. Hazel trots in before settling in at Noah’s feet.
“They’ll definitely renew your contract, Luke,” Noah says, breaking the quiet.
“Probably,” I concede, knowing that I’ve been playing great. I’m at the height of my career right now and if things keep going like this, there’s a good chance they’ll offer me a seven year contract.
“So then you can’t turn that down,” Noah says, shifting his weight as he turns to face me.
I set down the rest of the tools and face my little brother. He’s still so young at seventeen. You would never guess his age if you saw him working on the farm, or running errands for dad. He’s already had to be a grown-up in so many ways. He deserves the chance to be eighteen, fresh out of high school with the world to explore.
“I don’t have to take it,” I say, allowing myself to actually consider it for the first time in five years. I always thought I’d come back home, I just never thought about when that would happen. “Besides, with everything that’s going on right now, I have to keep my options open.”
Noah nods slowly, looking out the barn doors for a moment before curiosity fills his gaze as he looks back to me.
There’s a frown playing between his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Realizing what I just said, I try to backtrack. “Nothing, I’m just talking over here.”
Turning away from him, I busy myself with the tools on theshelf again. “What else needs fixing in here, Noh? I have the rest of the day so put me to use.”
Noah is quiet behind me…but just for a minute.
“No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he says, stepping closer and taking the wrench from my hands.
I take a minute, examining his expression and wondering if he’ll be able to handle the news. It doesn’t seem fair to unburden my issues onto him.
“I’m going to tell you all about it,” I promise, my voice steady. “In the meantime, I think it’s time you come and watch one of my games. What do you think?”
He searches my eyes, looking for something that might be off about my promise. But he won’t ever find that with me…we know each other too well. He’s my closest family.
“You think dad would let me go?” he asks, putting the wrench back on the shelf, his tone cautious, but there’s a spark of hope beneath it. “It’s not like you’re playing in South Carolina.”
“Yeah, I know.” I lean against the workbench, folding my arms. The excuses have always been the same…too far, too much work on the farm, too little time. It’s hard to tell if it’s logistics or pride keeping them from seeing me play.
“We’ve never watched one of your games live before,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly a bit self-conscious.
“I know.” I step toward him, giving him a firm pat on the back.
I don’t blame him. If it were up to Noah, he’d have been there, jersey on, cheering from the stands. But he’s still under Dad’s roof, bound by the unspoken rules and unyielding expectations.
