Page 105 of Cross Ice

Guys are taking me to Cap’s after. Team thing.

Evan

You should go.

Three words. No warmth, no coldness. Just permission I hadn’t asked for, which told me he was still somewhere between fine and not fine and hadn’t decided which to admit to yet.

Cap’s was loud and warm, the private room packed with the usual post-win energy. I ordered a beer and let the noise wash over me.

It felt good. Genuinely, uncomplicatedly good in a way I hadn’t felt off the ice since before the photos. Thompson was telling a story that had Fortin crying with laughter. André’s hand was on Naomi’s knee, and he was half listening, half smiling at something she’d said. The food was good and plentiful, and everyone was talking too loudly.

I ordered a second beer and realized I was smiling.

My phone was in my pocket. I didn’t check it.

Around ten, André dropped into the seat beside me.

“Good tonight,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You looked like yourself out there.”

“Felt like it.” I took a sip. “First time in a while.”

He nodded. Didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re allowed to have this, you know.”

I looked at him.

“A good game. A night out with the team.” He said it simply, without weight. “You’re allowed.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because you’ve had that look all night. Like you’re waiting to feel bad about it.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

“Evan’s going through something hard,” André said. “That’s real. But you going through something hard too doesn’t help him. Grinding yourself down doesn’t help him.” He picked up his drink. “Be useful to him. Don’t disappear into the guilt.”

I didn’t want to hear that. But he was right.

I thought about the week since the photos. The careful texts. The managed conversations. The way every interaction with Evan had been about fixing or containing or making a plan… all of it framed as being there for him, all of it quietly also about guilt. About feeling like I wasn’t allowed to be okay when he wasn’t.

That wasn’t being there for him. That was penance.

And it wasn’t helping either of us.

I checked my phone at ten thirty.

Nothing from Evan.

I thought about texting him. Decided against it. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I’d been using check-ins as a way of managing my own guilt rather than actually connecting. If I texted now, it would be for me, not for him. I told myself that was enough contact for one night and didn’t look too closely at whether I was staying quiet for his sake or mine.

I put my phone away and ordered another round for the table. The rest of the night was easy in a way I hadn’t expected. Loud and uncomplicated, exactly what André had said I was allowed to have.

The flight to Colorado left early Thursday morning. I sat next to Fortin, who put his earbuds in and left me alone, which I appreciated.

I texted Evan when we landed.