The door opened just a few seconds after I rang the doorbell. Dean stood in a deep red sweater that I had to pretend I didn't admire. But I did. Red was totally his color.

I cleared my throat. "Hi."

"Hi," he said, staring at me for a second before taking out his hand to shake my dad's. "Sir."

Dad shifted from behind me to shake the boy's hand, although he didn't say a single word.

Dean craned his neck and shouted at his mom that we had arrived before opening the door wider and letting us in. I stepped in, grateful for the warmth inside. Today had warmed up considerably compared to the weekend, and the snow and ice had begun to melt, but I was sure I hadn't seen the last of it. Winter hadn't even officially started.

"Charlie, glad you made it," Margaret said as she walked out of the kitchen toweling her hands dry. Her eyebrows went up as she saw my dad standing behind me, and in that second she looked exactly like her son. "Oh, hello, Gabriel. I didn't know for sure if you were coming."

Dad stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat. "I just wanted to make sure that this rowdy kid here," this he said as he jerked his chin towards me. "Was not by chance lying, since s-supposedly he's grounded."

I was sure the stutter had all to do with the fact that he'd just about referred to me as a she, and not at all because Margaret was looking really nice tonight. Or that it smelled wonderfully in the house. Or that it was warm and cozy like a home should be.

"No! Don't get me wrong." Her eyes went wide as saucers and she put her hand on her forehead. "I meant to invite you all along, it just slipped my mind to officially do it because I've been so busy. I'm glad Charlie brought you along."

Dad shook his head. "No worries, I don't mean to impose myself."

"Nonsense, stay please," she said. "The more the merrier."

Dean and I exchanged a glance that needed no words. It translated exactly to, they're not flirting, are they?

Dad's face morphed into that half cringe, half smile that people give when they're really uncomfortable but just don't want to seem rude by admitting it. "I don't think it'd be a good idea to have me and your husband under the same roof, really."

"Don't worry, Mr. Bernal. Dad's not joining us tonight," Dean said.

With a few more polite volleys they ended up convincing dad to stay, which maybe made him happy, who knew?, but definitely didn't please me. This was going to be a hell of a long night.

We took our coats, scarves, gloves and hats off and because the house was so warm I decided to also shed a fleece cardigan I was wearing. After hanging everything I saw that the source of the heat was a fireplace. With real fire. I walked up to it like the flames were calling on me and I held my hands out, marveling at the heat that chased away the numbness in my limbs. This was fantastic. One point for Canada.

"Feeling toasty?" Dean's rich voice with that slight twang of his came from behind me.

I bit my lip. A different warmth spread over me just from hearing his voice.

All I said was, "I'm officially impressed by this country."

He chuckled.

From the living room I heard dad ask, "Is there anything we can help you with?"

Meanwhile Margaret had already disappeared back into the kitchen when she said, "You're our guests, I wouldn't ask you to move a finger."

"Better yet, I can move my whole hands," dad said.

Dean and I groaned.

"Oh God, they're flirting."

He put his hand on his face. "Yup."

I noticed a picture of his by the side table, where he was maybe two years old sitting in his bathtub. He was grinning at the camera, his hands raised in the air as though waiting for whomever took the picture to lift him in their arms, and he was also naked. How so like every parent in the world to take pictures of their kids like this to forever embarrass them in the future. Of course I picked it up and started cooing, which meant that in a flash he'd taken it from my hands and stuffed it down the back of his pants.

I blinked up at him innocently. "You were so adorable. What happened to you?"

Blue eyes rolled. "Life happened, that's what."

I took a stroll around the living room. Music was now coming from the kitchen and I was sure Margaret had brought out some alcohol, with the way they were chattering away and laughing. There was a progression in age in the pictures that were exhibited. All the way from where he could barely walk, to when he started to get on skates and play with other kids. That was when I started to notice the medals and certificates strewn about the corresponding photographs. The whole living room was a museum to Dean's accomplishments. I noticed there was not a single picture of Dean with his dad, though there were plenty with Margaret.

"So, uh," I started, not knowing if this was a dangerous minefield but not careful enough not to proceed. "What's up with your dad?"

I cringed at my inability to word things in a tactful way. It was just glaring to me and that made it worth addressing.

"Long story short," he said as he absentmindedly arranged some of the knickknacks on the mantle. "We're not exactly on friendly terms anymore."

I gave him a side glance, the kind that probed to see if more could be gleaned with relative little effort.

He caved with a sigh.

"Dad is..." He looked up at the ceiling as if the right words would descend upon him. Or maybe so he wouldn't meet my eye. "A very angry man."

I pursed my lips. "I gathered."

He picked up a picture where he was on his knees on the ice, still wearing his pads after a game that won him a medal. It was jarring to see how teenaged Dean looked numbly at the proud little boy in the picture.

"He used to be the best in town, since as young as I was in this picture." He set it down. "He carried the Bears to win the province games. People still talk about that team, even though it was twenty years ago. The golden generation, they call it."

I laced my hands on my back as I finally reached the row of pictures on the wall by the stairs. Those were his middle school and high school pictures. I stopped in front of what looked like the newest one from this summer. He was pumping his fist in the air, an absolutely elated expression on his face as he kissed the golden medal he'd won for his country.

"Yeah, I have noticed everybody in town seems a bit Bear obsessed."

"A lot Bear obsessed. And I think especially back then. The Bears were the kings of the town, they got away with anything." Dean ran a hand through what previously were neat golden curls on his head and were now not anymore. The mess made him look even better. "What dad didn't realize is that the world out there won't be as coddling as a small town that is willing to forgive all of his transgressions."

His expression darkened. This time I didn't dare to probe.

It was him who decided to continue. "He got recruited to a decent college and from there he got drafted into the Calgary's team."

"Ah." I folded my arms. "Close to home."

"But a tough audience when he didn't play well." He shrugged. "That's just how hockey is. You're a god if you win, and you're worse than a six year old on the street if you lose."

That was just how it was with competitive sports. A thick skin was needed as much as skills.

"But then two things happened during the same year," he said this with the same dismissive tone of voice I'd met him with, but with the way the rest of his body tensed I knew to brace myself. "First he shattered his knee after a cheap shot that effectively ended his career and then I was born."

My jaw dropped and I struggled with picking it back up. "Wow."

"Yeah, it sucked to be born then."

I did a double take. "What?"

He raised the palms of his hands. "The timing was bad, I mean. It meant that once I was born male he decided to foist his dreams upon me. I had to become great, and he sacrificed everything and everyone for that, including mom."

His voice vibrated with emotion he couldn't control, and I knew this was still raw for him. By the animosity I'd seen when his dad picked him up after the game, and the fact that his dad was not here tonight, I figured that he was sort of in shared custody and that the arrangement didn't make anybody happy. And everybody deserved a happy family. Even perfect, handsome boys who had the world in their hands and a broken heart.

I looked down at my boots. "That sucks. I wish I could say something that'll make you feel better, but I don't know how to do that. It's not like I have a perfect family to lead by example."

The half smile he gave me twisted a knife in my chest. "At least you still have a semblance of one."

Margaret popped her head out from the kitchen then. "Dinner will be served in five minutes, guys."

"Thank you," I told her, swallowing thickly. Dean was studying my face up close, and for a moment I panicked. I cleared my throat and looked around, wondering what I could do to seem manlier. Then I said the first thing that came to mind. "Hey, everything sucks but at least you have some perks. I'm sure girls are going wild for you."

He tucked his tongue against his cheek and looked me up and down in a very particular way.

Oh, I was nervous now.

"Girls and boys, to be honest."

He smiled fully and I gaped after him.

We made it into the kitchen and sat down around the table, but my mind was still reeling. Was that just a fact? That he had fanboys just as he had fangirls? I'd certainly heard admiration and some jealousy in the boys from school when they talked about Dean, but I didn't think I'd whiffed the kind of air I'd been referring with my comment about girls. Then again everything was possible.

He couldn't have been referring to me, right?

We said grace and gave our thanks before a diplomatic session of maneuvering over who carved the turkey ensued. In the end, Margaret had the honor and carved pieces for each of us and we sat down to eat.

"Thank you for having us, Margaret," dad said. "Especially since we were so rude as to come empty-handed."

"Nonsense," she said, waving a hand. "This is better than my son and I boring each other to tears with the same topics, over and over. Paperwork and hockey."

"I didn't think my hockey talk bored you, mom," Dean said with a certain glint in his eye that let us know he was joking.

She chucked his chin softly. "I just really love you and have become very good at pretending to be interested."

We had a round of chuckles before dad blotted at the corner of his lips with the napkin and set it down. He laced his fingers together and I sighed. He was gearing up to A Talk.

"So, hockey, huh?" He paused for added drama. "Isn't it a very dangerous game?"

"Sure," Dean said, the same off hand tone as before. I was starting to identify it as his defense mechanism. "It's also dangerous to walk down the street in the middle of winter, yet it's invigorating."

I smiled. He had the same subtle back bone of steel as his mom when he pitched the idea of restoring the house on Main Street to my dad. Like mother, like son. And I could tell that dad was both impressed and annoyed by the way his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit.

"I'm sure it's very fulfilling for somebody who is so accomplished in it," dad said, elegantly motioning towards Dean along with the compliment. Then he jerked his chin towards me. "But this one here is new at it, smaller and weaker."

Dean sat back, looking from me to my dad.

"Weaker? Have you seen your son fight?"

I folded my arms and smirked because my dad, had in fact, never seen me fight. He'd made sure to miss each and every one of my amateur matches. Miguel had told me that each time dad had been pressed with some issue at work, but I knew better than that. He just didn't carve time out in his agenda for me and my interests.

"I — no. But my uh, my kid's smaller."

Dean nodded. "But vicious."

Dad glanced at me for a second. "That's true."

"It's just great that Charlie's joined the Bears," Margaret said as she served her son a heap more of asparagus. "It's an elite team, you know? They just don't allow anybody in. The fact that Charlie is a beginner makes it all the more outstanding."

My eyes widened. "For real?"

"Yup," my Captain said. "Even if just for a year, you'll forever be part of the Bears legacy now. That's definitely a big deal in Silver Grove."

I looked back at my dad, so stunned that I couldn't even brag. "You hear that, dad? I have a legacy now."

Dad pressed his lips into a thin line and he nodded slowly. I thought he'd leave it at that and that as soon as we left their house on our way to ours he'd say something along the lines of don't get too attached, the rug can be swept from under you any minute. Instead the conversation around the cozy meal must have twisted his cables, because a couple of days later he told me the most shocking thing I'd ever heard.

And that was that he wanted to come see me play.