We managed the feat of not talking for several days. Even as the weekend arrived and the move to the house was official. I guessed it had something to do with the fact that poor Miguel had to act as intermediary, passing tidbits from one side to the other about how to orchestrate the whole thing. From dad's side what mostly came was instructions. Which room was mine. What to get at the store. And definitely no wifi password. What mostly went from my side to his was an assortment of curse words mixed in between complaints that I was sure Miguel was filtering.

The one silver lining about the whole ordeal was that I must have made him so tired that he didn't for a second think about giving me shit about playing hockey, even though he saw me traipse in and out of the new house with my duffel bag and stick. We even had our first home game the first week after the move, and where I expected a huge hullabaloo from him there was none. Just silence. I was clearly not one of those kids who dreamed about their dad coming to cheer for them at a game. If anything, his way of cheering for me was to stay out of it.

The second Saturday of October was the most frigid day I'd experienced in this god forsaken land so far. I was shaking uncontrollably and adding an extra bounce to each step in an effort to warm myself up while I made my way back from the store. I carried a plastic bag with cookies, milk, cereal and cheese, and I was sure the milk would turn to ice cream and the cheese to straight up ice. This all was going to have to last me until Monday when I'd have all of it for Canadian thanksgiving. By myself.

I heard the sound of a car go by on the road. I saw it stop just ahead and I froze on the spot.

"Nothing's wrong," I muttered, trying to reming myself that this was Canada and in Canada people didn't kidnap pedestrians in small towns. It was probably someone who had to stop for a second to check their phone for an address or an important call. Or maybe their car malfunctioned or they didn't feel that well or comfortable driving in the slushy snow. It had nothing to do with me.

Except it had everything to do with me.

The middle aged man called out, "Hey, you!"

I tried to walk faster, but it was hard with all the white shit on the ground that had turned slightly brown and very slippery.

"That was a great game last night," he said.

I slowly turned to him. The man was fully decked in Bears colors. I blinked and the fright started to sap out of my body. It was just a proud local.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're not too bad for a rookie. Your tackle to that Canary dude yesterday was one of the best I've seen. Keep it up!"

He gave me a thumbs up before driving away. I had to pick my jaw up from the floor. It was the cold, I told myself, what had me blinking my eyes rapidly. That was it. It wasn't that I suddenly wanted to cry, no sir.

I kept walking, now with a different bounce to my step. That little interaction had warmed me up considerably. Was this why Canadians were known as nice people? To stave off the cold with some nice human warmth?

I walked, or more like waddled, as I crossed a road that led to a clearing on the right. A glint caught my eye and I turned to see the sunlight shining off the smooth surface of Lake Mary. There wasn't a single ripple in the surface of the lake, and I realized it must have been because it had frozen solid. In the middle of fucking October. I sighed and my breath came out in a puff. Just as I was about to turn and keep heading to the house, another glint flashed and almost blinded me. I rubbed my eyes and set out in the direction of the lake.

The glint was coming from an intrepid skater.

I squinted. Not precisely a skater. Someone playing solo hockey. I recognized the moves now, even though I was fairly far. The motions someone made while carrying a puck with a stick. The frantic dashing towards the goal, in this case imaginary. The incredible footwork with as much fierceness as finess.

Wait a second. Not everybody skated that way. Not everybody could dangle the puck in the air, handle it on the ice and flip it with minuscule flicks of their wrist.

I curved a hand by my mouth, took a deep break and asked, "Dean?"

It was him, I realized with a smile when he suddenly braked. He skated around in a circle until he spotted me waving at him. He took off towards me even as I made my way down toward the frozen pier. That was where I found his bag, his shoes and a Thermos. Dean met me there. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold or the effort, I didn't know. It definitely wasn't a blush, though just thinking that was how he looked like when he blushed was probably making me color up. But damn, he was cute. In another lifetime I'd have liked to tease him about it, maybe even flirt and see if I had the power to deepen his color.

Instead I asked, "What the hell are you doing skating on a lake?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "Um, hi to you, too?" A little smile appeared on his face while I continued to look at him like he totally was. "The lake's frozen solid for a few days already. The locals use it as an outdoors skating rink when it's like this."

I covered my eyes with my hand as a visor and made a show of looking around. "Which locals? I just see one weird guy here."

"That's probably just the frozen lake throwing your reflection back at you."

I rolled my eyes, though I admitted that was a good comeback. I did focus on the fact that he was alone, though.

"Why are you by yourself, then?"

Dean scratched his head through the thick green beanie he was wearing, and it liberated a few blond curls from beneath. "Everybody's busy with their families, getting ready for thanksgiving."

I cringed. "Yeah, this weekend's gonna suck."

He titled his head to the side, eyes thoughtful. "You don't get along with your dad?"

"An understatement," I replied with a shrug. "Guess we got that in common."

Without even looking at what he was doing he flipped the puck with his stick and caught it in midair. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Show off."

He grinned. "I could teach you a few things. If you want."

I exhaled, considering the proposal. I had to tell myself that it was a decent one and so I shouldn't feel like he'd just asked me if I was DTF. Freaking hot boys with a constant double entendre syndrome. Or freaking brain who read a second meaning behind anything said freaking boys said.

"Well, okay. I have nothing better to do."

We agreed on meeting there in a few minutes until I went home and got my skates and stick. I nearly did some impressive figure skating at the porch while I was trying to get the key in the lock, not realizing that the entire front of the house was icy. I found dad sitting on the sofa with his laptop, no doubt working on something. We ignored each other during the couple of minutes it took me to put the groceries away, and I made no point of hiding my skates and stick as I made it back downstairs and out. When I made it to the lake again Dean was still there, skating around as though he were doing shadow boxing. Or the hockey equivalent to it where he was pretending to be skating against an opponent.

I put on my skates and descended from the pier with considerable difficulty. I had to nearly slide down one of the poles with all my limbs until the blades of my skates touched the surface of the lake. I had a moment's worth of panic where I wondered if this was a bad idea after all. Somewhere under the layer of ice there was water cold as fuck, enough to kill me. Plus the surface was so uneven that I almost felt like I was learning how to skate again.

"Get your stick," Dean said from behind me and I tossed him a look. In it he must have read exactly what I was thinking because he laughed. "I meant the wooden one — stop giving me that look."

"Then shut up," I said.

Once I was in position he started teaching me a few moves that he called basic, but I felt were anything but. I fumbled and fell, and he picked me up with one hand like I weighed nothing. He taught me again and I tried to follow, but it was too much for me to breathe, move my upper body and my feet and not fall while handling the puck.

"You think too much," he said at some point, putting his hands on his narrow hips. "You need to just... feel."

I gave him my best resting bitch face. "Feel."

"Yes, like this."

He skated in a semi circle that put him right behind me. I felt his hands on my shoulders steer me until I was leaning down, which meant I was slightly bent over as I held my stick out in front of me. I was sure that if anybody saw my face I'd be red like a tomato, starting to border on the eggplant purple shades.

"Wait," he said next to my ear. Dean leaned forward and closer to me as he lowered his hands to my elbows. "Like this. Your arms are too stiff."

I squeezed my eyes shot. What was stiff was my lady boner, alright?

"This is the motion you have to follow." He taught my arms how to move and lo and behold, the puck actually moved in the intended direction. "Like that. Got it?"

I nodded, mouth open as I saw the small black disc slide smoothly across the ice. I threw my stick down and twirled around, excited and for a moment forgetting the heat coursing through my veins, just because I'd finally managed the very most basic thing in hockey. I made a pass!

"Did you see that-"

I should've known better than to do any abrupt movements while wearing knives on my feet. One of my feet tangled in the other, or maybe in his, and I flailed around trying to keep my balance. It was too late even for Dean to try to catch me, but he did and as a result we both went tumbling down. I hit the wall of his chest with so much force it robbed my breath for a precious few seconds. There was a groan that might have been mine or his, and I blinked my eyes repeatedly, trying to clear the stars from my eyes that had set up a dance around my head after I smashed my nose against something hard of him. As I lifted myself on all fours I realized that my nose had connected against his dimpled chin.

Dean had his eyes closed and that was definitely pain etched on his face.

"Shit, are you okay?" I asked him, freaking out that I'd hurt our Captain and that the whole town was going to murder me for it. Then I freaked out some more when he started convulsing under me, until I realized he was laughing. I frowned. "What's so funny?"

His eyes glinted like jewels as he opened them, and it had all to do with the fact that the sun was on us and nothing at all with whatever fantasy my brain wanted to concoct.

"I'm just marveling here at how you can both show incredible athleticism sometimes and a bone deep clumsiness at others." He sneaked an arm around mine and lifted his gloved hand to my face. I froze, for some reason thinking he was going to pull my face closer and — But he just wiped my nose. "You're also bleeding."

My hands flew to my face and I sat back. I tore my gloves off and wiped at my nose, feeling for it. It hurt so much. "Is it broken?"

"I'd say it still looks too perfect a nose to be broken."

I blinked down at him and lifted an eyebrow, trying to imitate his arrogance even as I felt a certain bubble in my chest explode into a million butterflies.

"You think my nose is perfect?"

Dean smiled like he knew exactly where my mind was. He put his hands behind his head. "I'm not complaining but, are you planning on sitting there all day?"

I yelped and jumped away like the most agile creature on this wide planet. My hands came away with a bit of blood but even as I kept wiping at it, the flow seemed to have stopped pretty early. I sat back and relaxed. It was always a risk while boxing, but while I'd broken my hand once by knocking someone out with more strength than my wrist could take, I'd still managed to somehow come out without damage to my face.

"If my nose's actually broken I'll sue your chin," I said.

"My mom's a lawyer, you know?"

I glared at him for all the advantages he had in life and Dean bit his lip, like he had to put in a whole lot of effort not to laugh at me.

"Dean!"

We both turned toward the source and saw his mom waving at us. I heard him sigh behind me and stand up. Before I knew it, he was also hauling me to my feet.

"Play time's over, Charlie."

I looked from her worried expression to his. "Why? What's going on?"

He picked up both of our sticks and the puck and led me to the pier, where his mom started gathering his stuff in her arms. They clearly had something to do, but what could it be, that caused their body language to tighten?

"Dad's coming for a visit."

I looked back at Dean. The memory of his dad snarling in his face in front of the town's folks came back. The next day at school Dean seemed okay, his usual self that swung between grouchiness and arrogance. The only effects of being roughed up seemed to be based on the pounding he took at the Eagles game and nothing else. And yet I was not mistaking the apprehension in his eyes or the downturn of his lips. Or the greater efforts our group of friends went through to appear cheerful and not at all worried about whatever happened after that night. The whole town seemed to tip toe around the topic of Peter Hyde.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked as we approached his mom.

He looked down for a second and nodded. "I'll be. He can't afford to rattle my game."

"What do you mean?"

But we'd already reached his mom and she was greeting us. "How are you doing, kids? Sorry to interrupt your game, but we gotta get going."

I smiled a little. "Nice to see you, Mrs. Hyde."

"Please call me Margaret, I'm in the middle of getting divorced." She hoisted her son's duffel on her shoulder and looked me up and down, but not in a way that raised my hackles. She seemed concerned. "How are you faring, Charlie? Is the house okay? And your dad?"

I considered how to best answer without putting my foot in my mouth about my dad or her divorce.

"It's, um, okay," was all I managed.

Her cheeks trembled with mirth that she contained. Just like her son every time he was speaking to me.

"Well, if you're bored to tears in that big house with your dad, you're both more than welcome to join us for thanksgiving."

Dean and I both looked at her, wondering if she was serious. The earnest way she gazed at me, as though she genuinely wanted our presence, made me think that she was. I figured dad would be working himself to the bone this entire weekend, but I didn't have to stay locked up in my room just because he preferred it that way. He'd said I was grounded for a month, but living in this town with him was already punishment enough, and since he hadn't clearly laid the terms of the grounding, I figured I was free to eat even if it was somewhere else.

"Well, I can't speak for dad but if you'll have me, I'll be there," I said.

oooohhhh SNAP, CRACKLE, POP!! things are getting hot in this cold in here, eh?

/Canadian puns