He settled at the kitchen table and reached for his laptop—a beast of a machine, scarred and stickered, its once-silver surface dulled to gunmetal gray. He hadn't touched it since I'd arrived. He kept it hidden in a drawer like a piece of the outside world he didn't want to face.
"Just checking whether the power's still on," he muttered, more to himself than to me.
The laptop whirred to life, the screen bathing his face in ghostly blue. I watched him, pretending to focus on my coffee while monitoring the subtle changes in his expression. His inbox populated with messages—hundreds, probably—but his eyes fixed on one.
The quiet that followed wasn't peaceful.
Micah's face drained of color.
"What is it?" I asked, though I already could make a strong educated guess
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "They want me to explain myself."
I moved around the table, ignoring any boundaries. The email filled the center of the screen: "DISCIPLINARY COMMITTEE REINSTATEMENT HEARING - ATTENDANCE REQUIRED." It was on official NHL letterhead.
I read the cold, professional words. Phrases like "conduct hearing," "clarification of intent," and "future eligibility" spilled across the screen.
They'd scheduled the hearing for next week.
"Fuck." The word escaped Micah as an exhale rather than a curse. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly before curling into a fist.
Outside, a branch surrendered to the weight of snow, cracking and falling somewhere in the forest. The sound emphasized the isolation that had sheltered us until now.
The world had found us. Or perhaps it had never lost track of us at all.
Micah's shoulders drew inward, contracting like a wound stitching itself closed. I watched the transformation with trepidation. The enforcer returned. The new version of Micah I'd glimpsed earlier receded behind familiar barricades. Hisfingers moved to close the laptop but paused, hovering over the keyboard as if he could somehow delete the message and its implications.
I settled into the chair across from him, deliberately keeping my movements slow and non-threatening. "You don't owe them anything." My voice was firm.
"It's not optional. It's a summons."
"I know, but what they're looking for—remorse, explanations, promises—you don't owe them that."
The coffee in my mug had gone cold, forgotten. Outside, the sun had breached the treeline, casting long shadows across the virgin snow. Light spilled through the kitchen window.
"What exactly am I supposed to tell them?" Micah's voice was rough around the edges. He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against worn floorboards. "Sorry, I nearly paralyzed the rookie? Sorry, I lost control? Sorry, I can't remember what I was thinking in that split second because all I saw was—"
He cut himself off. His fist came down on the table hard enough to make our mugs jump, coffee sloshing over the rims.
I waited for the vibrations to settle, both in the coffee and in him. When I spoke again, it was in a softer tone. "If you don't face them, part of you stays frozen here."
His eyes met mine. For a moment, he appeared lost. I didn't see anger or defiance. I saw the confusion of a man confronted with the consequences of a moment he couldn't take back.
"What if I fuck it up?"
The naked vulnerability stunned me. It wasn't the voice of Micah Keller, the infamous enforcer known for ruthlessness on the ice. It was merely a man afraid of failing at something that mattered.
I leaned forward, arms braced on the table. "Then I'll be there when it hits."
Something shifted in his expression, perhaps a ghost of hope.
"Why?" It was so many questions wrapped into one word. Why would I stand by him? Why would I support the man who'd broken me? Why would I put myself through the spectacle of a hearing when I could be rebuilding my career far from the forests of northern Michigan?
I didn't have a simple answer, but I voiced my truth.
"Because that's what we're doing now. We're standing in the impact zone together."
He studied my face, searching for the lie, angle, or hidden agenda. I waited and kept my expression open, hiding nothing.
