He poured the rich drink into the metal cap and handed it to me. The first sip burned my tongue in the best possible way—rich and sweet with an undertone of fire that spread warmth through my chest.
"Mrs. Pelletier's contribution?" I asked, settling beside him on the blanket.
"She said any man who spent October nights outdoors needed something stronger than unadorned cocoa." Eric's shoulder brushed mine as he adjusted his position.
Above us, the sky stretched infinite and black, pricked with stars that appeared close enough to pluck from their velvet backdrop. The Milky Way spilled across the heavens in a river of light more vivid than anything visible from populated areas.
Eric tilted his head back, scanning the constellations. "Okay, so that's definitely the Big Dipper." He confidently pointed toward Ursa Major.
"Good start."
"And that bright one there—that's got to be the North Star, right?" His finger traced a line from the Dipper's edge to Polaris with surprising accuracy.
I nodded. "Most people miss that connection."
"Ziggy taught me that one. Said it was the only constellation knowledge that mattered if you ever got lost in the woods." I handed the thermos lid back to Eric, and he sipped the chocolate. "Course, he also told me you could navigate by moss growth patterns, which turned out to be complete bullshit when we tried it during a camping trip in eighth grade."
"Moss grows where it's damp. Has nothing to do with direction."
"Yeah, we figured that out after walking in circles for three hours." Eric's laugh was warm and unselfconscious. "My dad had to come find us with the volunteer fire department. It was the most embarrassing rescue of my adolescent career."
I smiled at the idea of a younger Eric and his best friend, lost in the Maine woods with supreme confidence in their dubious survival skills.
"Now that one..." Eric traced a pattern with his finger that bore no resemblance to any constellation I'd ever learned, connecting stars in a design that looked more like modern art than ancient mythology. "That's the Coffee Pot of the North."
"Coffee Pot of the North?"
"Sure. See the handle? And the spout? It's brewing celestial caffeine for all the sleepy polar bears down here."
The absurdity of his improvised constellation struck me as so perfectly Eric that I laughed—not the rusty, reluctant sound that occasionally escaped me, but something genuine that came from a place I'd nearly forgotten existed.
"That's not how astronomy works."
"Says who? Maybe ancient civilizations weren't creative enough." Eric shifted beside me, his enthusiasm undimmed by my skepticism. "Besides, you have to admit it looks more like a coffee pot than half the official ones. I mean, what the hell is Lynx supposed to be? It's just a bunch of dim stars barely forming a line."
He had a point. The official constellations required more imagination than most people possessed. Eric's coffee pot was visually coherent.
"And over there, that's the Great Spatula, flipping cosmic pancakes."
I followed his gesture to another random star pattern, and despite every rational impulse, I embraced his game of celestial rebranding. There was something infectious about his willingness to see wonder where others saw empty space.
"There," Eric said suddenly, pointing toward a streak of light that flashed across the sky for maybe two seconds before disappearing. "First meteor. The show's starting."
Another streak of light traced its brief arc across the sky, and Eric gasped. We'd been lying on our backs for maybe twenty minutes, shoulders touching under the wool blanket, passing the thermos back and forth while meteors streaked through the darkness.
Eric shifted beside me, turning slightly so he could see my profile. "Did you ever think about what life would've looked like if that night never happened?"
I listened and wasn't sure I wanted to answer. When they asked about my past, most people were fishing for details about the accident itself—the crash, the damage, and the dramatic arc of my downfall. Eric was asking a more difficult question about the future that had died along with Derek.
I took a slow sip from the thermos, letting the chocolate and bourbon mixture burn down my throat. Above us, another meteor flashed and disappeared.
"UMaine. I had a full athletic scholarship. They'd been recruiting me since junior year, and the coach called three times that week to talk about their development program."
Eric turned away from the skies to look at me. There were no interruptions, only quiet listening, making it easier to continue.
"The plan was to redshirt my freshman year and get stronger in their training program, then work my way up through the depth chart. If lucky, the scouts thought maybe I could crack the starting lineup by sophomore year." I stared up at the Milky Way. "There were scouts already asking questions about the minor leagues after college. Nothing guaranteed, but enough interest to make it feel possible."
Eric poured more hot chocolate into the thermos lid.
