Chapter 69 A Sunday
MIA
Sunday felt quieter than the rest of the week. Not peaceful exactly. Just slower. The kind of day where everybody moved softer without discussing it first.
Mom stayed in bed most of the morning because the treatment earlier that week had exhausted her more than she wanted to admit. Jamie had an early practice and left the apartment complaining dramatically about missing sleep while carrying three different pieces of equipment at once like organization had personally offended him.
By noon the apartment was almost completely silent.
I sat cross-legged on the couch with my laptop open beside me and pharmacology notes spread across the coffee table.
Studying was becoming harder lately.
Not because the material was difficult.
Because my brain kept drifting somewhere else every ten minutes.
Halifax.
July.
The future sitting too close now.
I reread the same paragraph three times before realizing I had not absorbed a single word.
My phone buzzed against the couch cushion.
Caleb: you studying or pretending to study
I smiled.
A few seconds passed.
Then:
Can I steal you for an hour
I stared at the message for a second.
Where
Surprise
That immediately felt suspicious.
No
Trust me
Dangerous sentence
Please
I looked toward Mom’s closed bedroom door before answering.
Fine
Twenty minutes later Caleb texted that he was outside.
I grabbed my coat quietly and told Mom I was leaving for a bit.
She looked up from bed with the expression she always got whenever Caleb was involved lately. Soft around the edges.
“Have fun,” she said.
“I am literally just leaving the apartment.”
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “You still look happier about it than studying.”
Fair enough.
Outside, the cold hit immediately. Snow covered most of the sidewalk in uneven layers from the past few days.
Caleb leaned against his car waiting for me with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
“You look cold already,” he said the second I walked over.
“I am cold already.”
“That was fast.”
“I believe in efficiency.”
That got the smallest smile out of him. Not forced. Just tired around the edges.
I noticed immediately.
“You slept badly again,” I said.
“You say that every time now.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
He opened the passenger door for me without arguing.
The inside of the car was warm enough that my glasses fogged slightly for a second.
“Where are we going,” I asked once he started driving.
“You will see.”
“That is annoying.”
“I know.”
We drove mostly in silence after that. Not awkward silence. Normal silence. The radio played quietly in the background while snow blurred softly against the windows.
I watched Caleb’s hands on the steering wheel for a second. Tension still lived there lately even when he looked calm everywhere else.
“You are thinking too much again,” I said finally.
His eyes stayed on the road.
“Probably.”
“You want to talk about it.”
“Not particularly.”
I nodded once.
Fair.
Sometimes forcing conversations only made people retreat further into themselves.
About fifteen minutes later Caleb pulled into the nearly empty parking lot near the outdoor rink where Jamie used to play when he was younger.
I looked at him.
“This is your surprise?”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound confused.”
“That is fair.”
The rink was empty except for one kid at the far end practicing alone with a parent standing near the boards holding coffee. The ice looked rough from yesterday’s skate sessions. Snow gathered around the edges of the fence.
Caleb got out first and waited while I climbed out beside him.
Cold air wrapped around us immediately.
“What are we doing here,” I asked.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
“I used to come here when I needed to think.”
I looked toward the rink again.
“You picked an outdoor rink in freezing weather for emotional reflection.”
“I play hockey. We are not emotionally healthy people.”
That pulled a laugh out of me before I could stop it.
Small. But real.
We walked slowly toward the fence surrounding the rink. The sound of skates scraping against ice echoed lightly through the cold air.
For a minute neither of us spoke.
Then Caleb leaned his arms against the top of the boards.
“I came here a lot when I was younger,” he said quietly. “Before everything got serious.”
I stayed beside him silently.
“My dad used to hate this rink.”
I glanced at him.
“Why.”
“Too public. Too crowded. Too normal.”
The bitterness in his voice was small but noticeable.
He looked out toward the ice.
“He wanted private training facilities eventually. Better coaches. Better connections.”
I leaned lightly against the boards beside him.
“And did you want that too?”
“At first? Yeah.” He shrugged slightly. “I thought wanting more automatically made me mature.”
The little kid on the ice nearly lost balance chasing the puck and recovered dramatically at the last second. His dad clapped once from the boards like it was the greatest save in hockey history.
Without meaning to, I smiled.
Caleb noticed.
“That used to be Jamie,” he said.
“Jamie still falls like that.”
“True.”
Silence settled again. The kind that felt thoughtful instead of uncomfortable.
Finally Caleb exhaled slowly through his nose.
“I think I am scared that if I leave, I will slowly become somebody I do not recognize anymore.”
The honesty of it hit me immediately.
Not because it surprised me.
Because he finally said it out loud completely.
I looked at him carefully.
“You know what I think.”
“What.”
“I think you are already too aware of that possibility to become that person accidentally.”
Caleb looked down briefly at the ice.
“My dad was aware of things too.”
“That is different.”
“How.”
“Because your father notices damage after he causes it,” I said quietly. “You notice it before.”
That made him go silent again.
A cold breeze moved across the rink hard enough to make me pull my sleeves further over my hands.
Caleb noticed immediately.
“You freezing?”
“A little.”
“You should have worn better gloves.”
“You invited me outside with zero information.”
“Valid point.”
We stayed there another few minutes anyway. Watching the kid skate. Listening to the scrape of blades against ice.
Everything felt strangely smaller out there.
Not less important.
Just easier to hold mentally.
Eventually Caleb straightened slightly.
“I still do not know what I am doing,” he admitted.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that very calmly.”
“Because panicking would be embarrassing.”
That finally got a real laugh out of him. Short. But real enough that something in my chest loosened slightly hearing it.
He looked at me after the laugh faded.
“I do not deserve you sometimes.”
I rolled my eyes immediately.
“Do not start.”
“I mean it.”
“You are exhausted and emotionally spiraling. That is different from truth.”
His expression softened slightly.
“You always do that.”
“What.”
“Refuse to let me self-destruct dramatically.”
“It is one of my best qualities.”
“I think it might actually be your most terrifying one.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then after a second Caleb reached for my hand automatically. Cold fingers against mine. Steady grip. No hesitation.
And standing there beside the rink with snow falling lightly around us and a little kid missing half his shots twenty feet away, the future still felt scary.