Page 80 of Cross Ice

I grinned. “Probably.”

“Nico—”

“I’ll pick you up at two. Wear jeans and sneakers.” I hesitated for just a beat. “It’s a small place. Private. Not a lot of people.”

He went quiet for a moment, and I kept my eyes on the road, letting him sit with it.

“That’s not reassuring,” he said finally, but his voice had shifted—lighter, like something had loosened.

“The jeans and sneakers part or the surprise part?”

“Both.”

“Good.” The light turned green, and I accelerated. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

He studied my face for a moment, then settled back in his seat. “Okay.” A pause. “I trust you.”

The words hit me hard. After weeks of vagueness, the confession, and all the slow, careful steps since, hearing him say that so simply, so certainly, made my chest expand.

“Good,” I managed. “Because I promise it’ll be fun.”

Sunday’s practice was light—mostly skating drills and recovery work after Saturday’s game. Coach Dufour was in a good mood, which was rare, and let us out fifteen minutes early.

I showered quickly and drove to Evan’s, arriving exactly at two.

“So, where are we going?” he asked as he climbed into my car.

“Rock climbing gym.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“You said you trusted my choice. Plus, it’s a good workout.”

“Nico, I’m not athletic like you.”

“You don’t have to be athletic. You just have to not die.”

“That’s comforting,” he deadpanned.

The climbing gym was in an industrial part of the city, a warehouse-style building with thirty-foot walls covered in colorful holds. We checked in, got fitted for harnesses and shoes, and I led Evan to the bouldering section to warm up.

“Okay, so the goal is to get from the bottom to the top using only the holds marked with the same color,” I explained. “Start with your hands and feet on these, then figure out the route as you go.”

Evan looked up at the wall dubiously. “This seems dangerous.”

“The mats are thick. You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re basically indestructible.”

“I’m really not.”

He attempted the easiest route, making it about six feet up before his arms started shaking. “How are you supposed to hold on? My hands are cramping.”

“You’re gripping too hard. Relax.”

“Relaxing seems counterproductive when you’re dangling from a wall.”

I laughed and showed him the route, climbing it easily to show the holds and body positions. When I dropped back to the mat, Evan was shaking his head.