Page 57 of Time to Shine

“No.”

Casey knew he should take him at his word, but he couldn’t ignore how obvious it was that Landon needed to talk to someone. To share some of the weight he lugged around. “I’m not trying to push,” Casey said carefully, “but if there’s something you want to share, I want to listen. If you think it would help.”

Several seconds of silence passed, then Landon said, “My sister died when I was sixteen. She was eighteen.”

Casey’s stomach felt like lead. “Landon,” he said softly, because he didn’t know what else to say. It was the same age difference as his own sister and him, and he couldn’t imagine losing Brooke.

“Yeah. It was awful. It’s still awful. We were really close. Her name was Erin.”

Casey set the pillow down, then turned so he was facing Landon. “I’m sorry.”

Landon nodded, sniffed, and then fell silent. Casey waited. He’d wait for as long as it took for Landon to share more. Here, in a room illuminated only by Christmas lights, and with the wind howling outside and Landon’s body warm beside him, Casey felt like time had stopped anyway.

Finally, Landon said, “It was right after I got drafted to a junior team in Quebec. The whole family had been so excited for me, and for Erin because she’d just graduated high school. We were all so happy, y’know?” His words were clipped and sounded automatic, like he was trying to get the information out as quickly as he could. “And then she was gone. It was so sudden. A car accident. She had to swerve out of her lane, I guess. We don’t even really know what happened, but it killed her. Instantly.”

Casey’s eyes were burning. He knew words were never easy for Landon, and these words would be difficult for anyone to get out. He took a chance and placed a hand on Landon’s forearm. Landon didn’t flinch. “That’s awful,” he said, using Landon’s own word because he couldn’t think of one better.

Landon surprised him by continuing. “I felt...shattered. I can’t really describe it better than that. And then just empty. My parents were barely functioning. And I left.” His voice broke on the last word. “I left them alone. I was all they had, and I chose to play hockey in another province.”

Casey squeezed his fingers around Landon’s arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I left,” Landon said, loudly enough that it startled Casey. It seemed to startle Landon too. More quietly, he said, “I lived with another family, in Quebec. One that wasn’t torn apart by grief. And it felt good to not have to think about Erin every second of every day. It felt good to just live for hockey, and pretend Erin was still okay back in Halifax. That my parents were okay.”

“Of course it did. That doesn’t mean that—”

“I was selfish. I was so fucking selfish and I’m still selfish. My relationship with my parents has never been the same. It’s like we don’t know how to talk to each other, or maybe we’re all holding back what we really need to be saying. Sometimes I want them to yell at me or something. Let me know exactly how much I hurt them. But they’re so nice to me. I don’t know how they can even stand me.”

“Because you’re their son, and you’re amazing.” Casey inched a little closer to him. “I’ll bet they’re proud of you. They wanted you to be exactly where you are right now, in the NHL. If you were that good at sixteen, then your parents must have been supporting your dream a hundred percent.”

“They do support me. They always have, but they’re scared to watch me play live. In case I get hurt. Or worse.”

That sent a chill through Casey. Of course hockey was a dangerous sport, and he’d seen his share of terrifying injuries. He could understand why Landon’s parents would worry, but it was also heartbreaking to think about them not watching his games.

“I’m all they have left,” Landon said quietly, “and I’m a terrible son.”

“You’re not. You’re just...” Casey searched for the right words. “You’re just dealing with something really fucking terrible in whatever way you can.”

“Badly.”

“No. Like someone who needed to figure out a way to keep going.”

Their gazes met, and then Landon seemed to notice Casey’s hand on his arm. He looked at it curiously but didn’t pull away.

“Tell me about Erin,” Casey said, barely above a whisper. This moment seemed so fragile, but he wanted Landon to have the chance to talk about someone he loved. Someone he never had a chance to talk about.

Landon’s lips turned up. “She wasn’t much like me at all. She was...fun. Popular. She had lots of friends, but she always made time for her awkward younger brother. I could always talk to her.” He turned his gaze to the couch cushions. “I still do. That probably sounds weird, but it helps, sometimes.”

Casey very gently squeezed his forearm. “It makes sense.” He could add that he himself talked to inanimate objects all the time just to feel less alone, but he decided to stay on topic.

“It’s been over eight years since she died, but it still feels fresh. Maybe because I never talk about it, I don’t know.”

Casey was sure that was at least part of it, but he stayed silent.

“Sometimes I get hit with these...feelings,” Landon explained. “Like running into a wall. I’ll be fine, and then something will remind me of her, and remind me that I got to live and she didn’t. And it hurts so much.”

Casey quickly wiped away his own tears with his free hand. He should have guessed the sadness in Landon’s eyes had been caused by something like this, but it was crushing, knowing that it wasn’t something Casey could take away.

“It’s just...” Landon huffed out an exasperated whoosh of air. “She wanted to experience the whole world. She complained to me once that it was so unfair that there were so many things to see and do on this planet, and she wouldn’t be able to—” He paused, and swallowed before continuing. “That’s the part that makes me so angry. She never even had a chance to get started. She had no time at all.”

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