Page 35 of Fly

I heard the tremor beneath the words, the careful spacing of her breaths, the fatigue she was trying not to give voice to.

“I wish you’d called me. I wish I were there,” I said, the words coming out rougher than I meant them to. “I want to be there.”

I wish you were here with me in the US, Mom.

“Oh, Jari,” she said softly, and I could picture her smile, the one she used when she wanted to make every awful thing feel smaller than it was. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be with your career and playing the game you love, and you'll see me in the summer.”

If only she knew the truth. I hated the game that had stolen my childhood as soon as I'd begun to understand who my father was. I hated the parts of me that were good on the ice. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the wall. Fuck the cost. Fuck the numbers, the contracts, and what my father thought he owned. It was already costing thousands a month in that private facility, and if it took more—if it took everything—I’d find a way. I always had.

“I just want to hug you,” I said quietly. “I wish you were here with me. I wish I could… hold you for a minute.”

There was a pause, filled with static and distance and everything I couldn’t fix.

“I know,” she said. “And I wish that too. But, darling, I love you, and it makes me so proud to see you with your new team. How are they? Is it better? I was worried after…”

“It’s amazing,” I lied, the word coming out too easily. “They’re welcoming. I can see myself here for a while.” I leaned into the lie because it was kinder than the truth, because she needed to hear that I was safe, that something in my life was steady. “I met Tennant Rowe, and he said that I belonged there.” But even as I said it, doubt pressed in. I had no idea if the Railers would keep me on, no sense of how long goodwill lasted before a player became a risk, a problem, a name that stopped getting written on lineup cards. I’d felt that slide before. I knew how fast it could happen.

“That sweet man,” she murmured.

“I met someone, Mom,” I half-whispered.

“You have? Oh, darling, that is amazing, are they nice?” She used they, because outside of me and now Cam, she was the only one who knew I was gay.

Nice? Cam was more than nice, he was…

I didn’t have the words.

“I’m having fun,” I said instead, which was lame, but she chuckled.

“I’m glad.”

I snapped my watch closed, then opened it again, the small, familiar motion grounding and useless all at once. The lies sat heavy in my chest—not because they fooled her, but because I needed them to.

“You’re very quiet, Jari. Are you okay?” she asked, turning the question back on me, the same as she always did.

“Yes, Mom,” I said, even though the word tasted like another lie. “I am. I love you.” Then I couldn’t help myself. “Mom, I want to be the primary emergency contact for you,” I blurted, and she sighed.

We'd had this conversation so many times since I was ten and first realized she was ill before she was diagnosed. I wanted to be the one to care for her. She sighed again, soft and tired, the sound wrapped in affection and resignation. She told me every time I brought this up that she still loved my father in her own way, because loving him was easier than untangling decades of habit, easier than admitting how much damage had been done. It was simpler, she said, if things stayed the same—if she didn’t fight, didn’t change the balance, didn’t give him another reason to be angry or controlling. Keeping the peace took less energy than starting a war she no longer had the strength to finish.

“I refuse to worry you, my darling,” she added gently, as though it was a promise she’d made to herself as much as me.

“Well, what if I want to be worried?” I snapped the words out before I could stop them. The silence that followed was immediate and heavy, and I knew I’d crossed a line. “I didn’t mean that,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. I just⁠—”

“I know,” she said, and this time the sigh held no reproach, only understanding. “I know, Jari.” There was a pause, then the practical tone she used when she needed to end a call before emotion overwhelmed her. “I have therapy soon. I should go.”

“Äiti—”

“I love you too, Jari, always,” she said, and the line went quiet.

By the time the team boarded the plane and me along with them, my head was still full and somehow completely empty at the same time. I ended up in the seat next to Noah, which felt deliberate even if it probably wasn’t. It wasn’t a long flight from Harrisburg down to Raleigh—barely enough time to get comfortable before the descent—but Noah seemed determined that I wouldn’t spend it alone with my thoughts.

Noah glanced at me more than once as we settled in, his expression open but assessing. “You okay, Jari?” he asked quietly, as if he didn’t want to make a thing of it. “You look tired.”

“I’m good,” I said. The answer was automatic and rehearsed. I even managed a smile, small but convincing enough. The truth stayed locked down where it belonged. I couldn’t afford to let my worry for my mom bleed out here, not on a team flight, not with eyes on me. This was my job. My chance. I swallowed it all and leaned back, letting the noise fill the space where my thoughts wanted to spiral.

Noah talked easily, about the road trip, about Florida, about nothing and everything at once, as if he’d decided it was his job to make sure the new guy was okay. Halfway through, Trick wandered over, leaning across the aisle to say something about the team in North Carolina, then Mules appeared, then Becks. It turned into a loose knot of conversation over the seats, jokes tossed back and forth, the kind of casual inclusion that made it hard to retreat even if I wanted to.

At some point, when the noise dipped just enough and everyone was taking seats for landing, I glanced at Noah. “Can I ask you a question?”