Chapter 49 Four Hours
CALEB
The distance became real on Thursday night.
Not because Halifax suddenly moved farther away on a map.
Because Porter called and gave me an actual schedule.
March second.
Six weeks.
Mandatory housing.
Mandatory training sessions.
Media obligations.
Travel blocks.
Everything structured down to the hour.
I sat in Eli’s apartment listening to Porter explain it while snow hit the windows outside and the reality of it settled slowly into my chest piece by piece.
“You will not have much free time,” Porter said. “That is intentional.”
“I figured.”
“The organizations observing this program are evaluating more than hockey skill. They are evaluating discipline. Adaptability. Professionalism.”
I leaned back against the couch.
“Understood.”
“There will also be pressure on you socially.”
That made me laugh quietly.
“What does that mean exactly.”
“It means young prospects suddenly think they are celebrities and begin making catastrophic decisions in public.”
“That sounds targeted.”
“It is targeted.”
Fair.
Porter paused briefly.
“How are things with Mia.”
There it was again.
Everybody asked about her now with the careful tone people used around things they already understood were important.
“Good,” I said honestly.
“Good enough for distance?”
I looked toward the dark kitchen.
That question landed harder.
“I think so,” I admitted.
“You think or you know.”
I rubbed a hand slowly over my face.
“I do not know anything yet,” I said. “Neither of us does.”
“That is the correct answer,” Porter replied immediately. “Anybody your age claiming certainty about distance is either lying or delusional.”
I smiled slightly despite myself.
“Comforting.”
“It should be.”
We finished the conversation after that. Training expectations. Travel dates. Equipment requirements.
Real things.
Adult things.
The kind of things I had spent years wanting desperately.
But after the call ended, I stayed sitting on Eli’s couch staring at the blank television screen longer than necessary.
Four hours.
That was what everybody kept saying.
Only four hours.
As if distance could be measured properly by roads instead of timing and exhaustion and separate lives moving at different speeds.
Eli came out of his room halfway through my spiral holding cereal.
“You look thoughtful,” he said cautiously.
“That bad?”
“Little bit.”
He sat down across from me.
“Porter?”
I nodded.
“March second?”
“Yeah.”
Eli ate cereal thoughtfully for a second.
Then:
“You scared about hockey or scared about Mia.”
I looked at him.
“Interesting that you separated those.”
“They are separate.”
Not really.
Not anymore.
I leaned back into the couch cushions.
“I do not know what this looks like,” I admitted quietly. “That is the problem.”
Eli shrugged.
“You figure it out.”
“Very inspiring.”
“You want realistic or dramatic.”
“Neither apparently.”
He pointed the spoon at me.
“You spent six months learning how to actually talk to somebody instead of pretending everything is fine all the time. Use that.”
Annoyingly reasonable.
I hated when Eli became emotionally intelligent without warning.
My phone buzzed before I could answer.
Mia.
You busy.
No.
Can I come over.
I sat up slightly.
Now?
Yes.
I looked at the time.
Nine fourteen.
Something in her wording felt off immediately.
Come over.
Fifteen minutes later she knocked once before walking into Eli’s apartment wearing her winter coat and carrying enough nervous energy around her body that I could feel it immediately from across the room.
Eli looked between us once.
Then stood.
“I suddenly remember somewhere else I should be.”
“Mature,” I called after him.
“I am a genius,” he replied, grabbing his jacket.
Then he disappeared.
Mia stood in the middle of the living room for a second after the door closed.
“What happened,” I asked immediately.
“Nothing bad.”
That did not relax me even slightly.
She took off her coat slowly.
“I got another email from Hamilton Regional.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of email.”
“Financial aid office.”
I blinked.
“Oh.”
“They offered partial assistance because of Mom’s medical documentation and academic standing.”
“That is good.”
“It is very good.”
She sat beside me finally.
“But?”
She looked down at her hands.
“But it still is not enough.”
There it was.
The real thing underneath the conversation.
“How short.”
“Eight thousand.”
I stared at her.
Eight thousand dollars might as well have been eighty thousand for most people our age.
Mia laughed once quietly without humor.
“I knew nursing school would be expensive,” she said. “I just think I kept pretending future Mia would magically solve it somehow.”
“We will solve it.”
The words left my mouth automatically.
She looked at me immediately.
“We,” she repeated carefully.
“Yes.”
“Caleb.”
“What.”
“You cannot solve every problem in my life.”
“I know that.”
“Do you.”
I held her gaze.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I just want to help solve this one.”
She looked away first.
The silence stretched briefly.
Then she spoke very softly.
“I am scared.”
That got me more than anything else had.
Because Mia almost never admitted fear out loud.
Not directly.
I moved closer instinctively.
“Of what.”
“Everything changing at once.”
The honesty in her voice hit me hard.
“Hamilton,” she continued quietly. “Halifax. Mom finally responding to treatment enough that I can think about leaving the apartment without feeling guilty every second. You becoming…” She gestured vaguely toward me. “Whatever this hockey thing is becoming.”
I stayed quiet.
“I feel like if I stop paying attention for one second my whole life is going to outrun me,” she admitted.
I reached for her hand.
“Mia.”
She looked at me finally.
“We do not have to solve all of it tonight.”
“I know.”
“You just have to let somebody stand beside you while it happens.”
Her expression changed slightly at that.
Softer.
More vulnerable.
“That sounds suspiciously emotionally healthy,” she said quietly.
“Do not ruin the moment.”
A small laugh escaped her.
I pulled her gently closer until her shoulder rested against mine.
The apartment stayed quiet around us.
Snow outside.
Heat humming softly through the vents.
Normal Thursday night.
Except not really.
Because everything underneath it was changing.
“I talked to Porter tonight,” I admitted after a while.
She tilted her head slightly against my shoulder.
“How bad.”
“Mandatory schedules. Mandatory housing. Mandatory everything.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around mine.
“March second still?”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Four hours,” she said softly.
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
“It is not that far.”
“No,” I agreed quietly. “It is not.”
But we both understood the problem was never going to be geography.
It was time.
Exhaustion.
Pressure.
Separate futures moving forward simultaneously and hoping love stretched correctly between them.
Mia leaned fully into my side then, tired in a way that looked deeper than physical exhaustion.
“You know something weird,” she murmured.
“What.”
“I am less scared of you leaving than I was of you never leaving.”
I frowned slightly.
She looked up at me.
“You were always supposed to become more than this town,” she said quietly. “I think I would hate myself eventually if I asked you not to.”
Something in my chest hurt suddenly.
Not badly.
Just enough to matter.
“I am not leaving you behind,” I said.
“I know.”
“You better.”
“I do.”
I kissed the top of her head without thinking about it first.
Then we stayed there together on Eli’s couch while snow kept falling outside and both of us pretended four hours was a simple thing.