It isn’t fair. I know that. There’s no right way to mourn, and my dad’s death rocked us all to the core.

You don’t get to tell people how to feel. Fuck. You don’t even get to tell yourself how to feel. It’s a real bitch of the human condition to be in control of everything and also nothing.

“Is everything going okay? You look good.”

“I am.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. I can’t bring myself to return the gesture. Her fingers linger and each second that passes feels like an eternity. I don’t know why I can’t just accept and enjoy her company.

She gives me one last squeeze and then pulls back. “You looked good on the ice last night, too. I still can’t believe how talented you and your brother both turned out. I can barely walk a straight line. You got your athleticism from your father. He would be so proud.”

“Can we not?”

She flinches and I wince.

Dammit. Why can’t I just sit here and let her talk about him? Partly it’s because I’m afraid that conversation leads to me telling her how bitter I feel. And what good would that do? She’s finally on her feet and I knock her down with memories of how she hurt me when she was drowning? No way.

“Can we talk about something else?” I try again.

She nods. “Sure.”

We suffer through breakfast talking about stupid shit like the weather and repairs she’s having done on the house back in Michigan. My mood sours with each bite, and I’m all too eager to head to the arena when it’s time.

Adam walks in just after I do. “Hey, man. Where were you this morning?”

“I’m sorry. Did I need to check in before I left?”

His brows raise.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m in an awful mood. Had breakfast with my mom this morning.”

He nods and takes a seat on the bench, setting his bag on the floor. “Are you two not close?”

“We are… we were. I don’t know. When my dad passed away shit was fucked up for a while.”

“Sorry, man. I can’t imagine what it’d be like if something happened to my parents. Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah. I just need to get on the ice.”

One side of his mouth pulls up into a smile. “All right.”

After the best game of my life (apparently bitter frustration works well for me), I find my mom waiting for me outside of the locker room with some of the other families, including the Scotts. Ginny smiles and approaches me.

“That was incredible. Congratulations.” She hugs me, taking me by surprise given all the onlookers, but it feels too nice to pull away.