A familiar tightness zips through me. It isn’t just a number. It’s the place where it all fell apart.
Where I lost him.
I dip the brush into the deep blue paint, and the bristles make a subtle, wet sound as they touch the surface. The ice is so smooth that the brush glides easily over the cold sheet.
The first brushstroke feels as though I’m painting all the grief and self-blame I’ve carried for months for the world to see.
The second is like rewriting what happened.
The third is a promise I’m making to Jack.
I follow the lines, careful not to make a mistake.
Then, Roman’s laugh buzzes through.
My head lifts, he’s holding a paintbrush near Erin’s cheek. The blue paint pops against her skin, and there’s a quiet brightness in the way her lips tip up that seems to reach straight into me. Her eyes flit to mine, and her expression falters, as if she’s been watching me for hours without me noticing—and now I have.
Her eyes are tender, her gaze flicking between my painted section and me, understanding this isn’t just about the ice, paint, or the game. It’s about honoring a life that was cut too short.
A life I still can’t quite believe is gone.
I look back down at the number in front of me. There’s only a small area left. I glide the brush smoothly over the spot. The white ice disappears above the paint.
I stand and step back, taking it in.
Jack’s here. He’s with me, in this place, on this ice. And it’s as if the rink itself is holding him.
Holding us.
I let out a shaky breath.
This is for Jack. For the guy who was always there and always had my back. For the brother I never got to say goodbye to.
This moment… It’s everything I needed. Instead of finding blood smeared all over the ice, I see those four letters—JACK.
I drop to my knees near the logo, my hands pressing against the cold surface, my grief dripping down my cheeks.
She took an awful moment and turned it into a beautiful emblem. The center ice—the place Jack was found lifeless and bleeding because of my brother—has haunted me but is now sacred ground.
“I love you, buddy,” I choke out in a whisper. “I miss you so much, and I promise I’ll make you proud every time I’m out here. I’ll hold that cup up for both of us. And when I’m done playing, I’ll build you that hockey team, too. I fucking swear it.”
A hand lands on the back of my neck. One I haven’t felt in a long time but know immediately who it belongs to before I turn around and take in the Hendersons.
Mrs. Henderson’s eyes glisten with unsaid words as she opens her arms wide.
I waste no time throwing myself into her. “I’m so sorry. I’m sofuckingsorry.”
“Language,” she scolds as she holds me close to her. Mr. Henderson wraps his arms around the both of us next.
“It’s alright, son. It’s alright. Let it out now.” His voice is composed, but I recognize the raw emotion underneath his attempt at strength. That’s all it takes for the dam to explode. For the pain from the recent past to rip through me.
I let it all out.
The next thing I know, I’m cocooned by multiple people. Love blankets my body as arms embrace me, and right here, with my entire team standing with me, I’ve never felt safer.
The walkto Bakes by the Lakes is oddly peaceful. I find myself walking in step with Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, my thoughts drifting as they catch me up on the latest.
It’s strange how people deal with grief, how life keeps moving forward. For months after the accident, I found it hard to function, never mind imagining what life looked like for parents who lost their son. I wondered if their insides were frozen in place—just like mine—as they navigated the horrors of losing a child.
