Page 53 of Puck Me Back to Life

The old man barely reached my shoulder, but somehow he always seemed larger than everyone else in the room. He took one look at me, one look at the garbage bag in my hand, and said, “Let's go home.”

Home.

Not my home.

Not his house.

Home.

My throat tightened unexpectedly, and I scrubbed a hand over my face as if that would do anything useful.

Grandpa had been kind in a way I didn't know adults could be. Patient. Steady. The kind of man who never raised his voice because he didn't need to. He taught me how to change a tire, how to balance a checkbook, and how to make the perfect grilled cheese. He came to every hockey game he could. He never missed a birthday. Never forgot a phone call. Never made me feel like a burden.

The problem was that by seventeen, most of the damage had already been done.

You don't spend your entire childhood hearing you're responsible for your mother's death and walk away unaffected just because someone finally starts being kind. Kindness helps. It matters. It gives you somewhere safe to stand while you bleed.

It does not erase the wound.

By the time I moved into my grandfather's house, part of me had already accepted the verdict.

Worthless.

Broken.

Wrong.

The beliefs became quieter over the years. Less obvious. Better dressed. They learned how to hide beneath discipline, control, hockey, sex, dominance, and all the other things people mistake for confidence when they're looking from a distance.

Even now, they still surface sometimes. Insecurity just learns better hiding places as you get older.

My phone buzzes against the counter. The sound pulls me back into the present so sharply that I blink. I glance down automatically.

Unknown Number

Hey it's Hayes.

A smile appears before I can stop it. The timing is almost ridiculous, like the universe decided I'd spent enough time standing in my kitchen with ghosts. Another message arrives immediately.

Kai

I stare at the screen. The smile grows.

Apparently, he couldn't wait long enough for me to figure that out on my own.

For a moment, I only look at the messages.

Simple.

Nothing special.

Two texts.

That should be all they are.

Instead, something in my chest feels lighter.

The condo doesn't seem quite as empty anymore.