“I did.”
And for some reason, standing here on the ice with him, hand in his, music echoing around us, everything is as it should be. The song fades out, the last notes lingering just long enoughto settle into the quiet before something slower replaces it. There's the tinkle of piano keys as something familiar and cinematic begins to trickle through the speakers.
I tilt my head, listening for a second, and then I laugh, the sound slipping out of me before I can stop it.
“Okay,” I say, glancing at him. “Was this part of your playlist, too?”
Ty’s mouth curves, that easy, almost shy smile showing up like he’s been caught out in the best way.
“Believe it or not,” he says, “yeah.”
“You’re serious.”
He nods, guiding us into an easy glide, his hand steady in mine. “Sometimes I put classical music on to calm me down. It’s always worked.” A small shrug. “My mom used to do it when I was a kid.”
That melts something in me immediately.
“Really?” I ask, studying him a little more closely now. “Tell me more about her. You haven’t talked much about your parents.”
“Not much to say, really.” He exhales, not heavy, just thoughtful. “They’re in Canada. Divorced.” Another small shrug, but this one carries a little more weight. “That’s why Emma and I are so close. Parents split, kids get shuffled back and forth. So, you kind of just stick together.”
“That makes sense,” I say quietly as the music drifts around us, like it’s gently wrapping the moment up. I glance at him again. “Do your parents know? About…your therapy?”
He doesn’t pull away from the question, but he takes a moment to consider it.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “I talked to my mom when everything started. She was…” He huffs out a small breath, almost amused. “She did that thing moms do where they try to make it better without really knowing how.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said she always knew I was a little different,” he goeson, gaze drifting for a second like he’s seeing it play out again. “But she thought it was a focus thing for me. Like I got too locked in on things.”
I nod slowly.
“She went to my school a couple times,” he adds. “Asked if I could get extra time on tests. They’d noticed I was having trouble processing things as fast as everyone else.” He shrugs lightly. “We were in a small town, and I don’t think anyone really knew what to call it then. Classes were small enough that I got extra attention.”
There’s a quiet honesty in that that lands somewhere deep.
“And I think,” he continues, voice a little quieter now, “that’s probably around when I started hiding it more. Masking is what Dr. Hale called it, where you’re just trying to keep up without anyone noticing.”
I watch him for a second, the ice carrying us forward in this slow, steady rhythm.
“Yeah,” I say gently. “That makes sense. If the world starts reacting to something, you figure out pretty quickly how to make it stop reacting. It becomes the safest option.”
There’s a subtle shift in his expression, like he didn’t expect me to meet him there quite so easily.
“Yeah,” he says again, softer this time.
We fall into a quiet place after that, but it’s not because the music is filling it. It's like a living thing, this energy between us. I think about the glide of the ice underneath, the warmth of his hand in mine, steady and grounding in a space that should feel cold but doesn’t anymore. And I let myself be there for a second.
We drift for a few more minutes, the moment settling into something quieter. Ty’s thumb brushes lightly against mine, almost absentminded.
“Tell me about yours,” he says.
I glance over. “My what?”
“Your mom.”
Ah. I let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh…boy. That’s a harder one to process, Ty.”
