Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Ten (pt. 1) [Eli]

I'm sitting on Owen's bed, in the room I shared with him for ten months last year.

Dean's sprawled out next to me, with his head on Owen's pillow and his feet dangling off the edge of the mattress. Owen sits in front of us on the office chair by his desk, which is placed against the wall beneath the window between the two beds. Our hockey bags are thrown on the floor, near the door.

The second bed in the room belongs to Owen's sister, Olivia. After the Holmeses became my foster family for the last school year, Olivia slept on the living room couch so I could take her bed. You'd think any teenage girl who'd already been forced to share her bedroom with her brother all her life would have a lifetime of complaining to do after being exiled to the living room, but Olie was cool.

She usually spent most of her time with us, either in the bedroom or in the living room. On the weekends, if Owen and I left for early-morning practices, she would grab her pillow and move to her brother's bed to sleep in. Whenever Dean came over, she would sometimes hang out with us for a while and then go off to do her thing.

Despite their closeness in age, Owen and Olivia always had different social circles — as different as a small town like Brunson allows. Until last summer, she was only Owen's chill, spirited sister who I sometimes had short interactions with. But after I moved in, we ended up growing closer. 

She is only a year younger than us, but she felt much more mature. It was during not-so-rare moments after Owen fell asleep, when she and I would stay up talking, that I realized she shares her brother's listening skills and practical look at life, with a touch of refreshing optimism to set them apart. For some reason, noticing these similarities between brother and sister — but also, maybe even more importantly, the differences — made it easier to talk to her during a time when I found it hard to talk to anyone at all.

"Connor's a lot better this year," Dean muses aloud, continuing the conversation we started on the ice, during our independent Sunday morning practice.

"He put on a lot of muscle over the summer," I mutter as way of agreement. It's weak and kind of lame as a response, but I don't have the energy for more. 

I woke up this morning with a now-familiar feeling of exhaustion despite a long night of sleep. Owen's dad drove the three of us to the rink before heading out to a job out of town. The lethargic feeling dissipated as soon as I slid my skates on. However, the temporary charge of energy faded the moment I left the ice, and I was tired again by the time we got back.

Owen nods thoughtfully, offering up a bit more of insight. "He's clearly been practicing. With James, probably, because he's actually almost as good as Coleman this year."

Trey Coleman was already one of the best offensive players we had last year, along with Owen and a couple of seniors. When Anderson and Linden, our legendary wingers, graduated, Owen was worried the team's offensive would take a serious hit. Dean and I heard about it all summer long. James Lowell had shown impressive progress from skinny freshman to decent junior, but he didn't look like he could ever live up to Anderson's legacy as right winger.

Turns out, for once, Owen's worries ended up being unfounded. And for once, even Owen was happy to be wrong.

The bedroom door opens unannounced and Olivia comes in, with her thick dark curls slicked down with the weight of water on them. She smiles at the three of us, but her eyes only sweep over her brother and Dean's figures for half a second before they fix on me.

"Hey, boys. Had a nice practice?"

"It was good. The rink was empty," Dean answers lazily, without sitting up or moving his eyes away from the ceiling.