3. Ziggy

Chapter three

Ziggy

I t was like a sauna in the kitchen. The heavy, humid air descended on me when I entered, clinging to my skin. The ancient linoleum floor squeaked under my weight as I took each step. Dad sat hunched over the kitchen table, fiddling with the motor of an ancient box fan. Part of the front grate was gone, a victim of a past collision with an unknown object.

"For cryin' out loud," Dad growled in his thick Yankee accent. "Might as well be blowin' on the blades ourselves."

I dropped my gear bag near the table. It landed with a dull thump. The smell of sweat and leather mingled with the earthiness of Dad's favorite coffee. If you could bottle it, maybe that was the unique Knickerbocker scent.

"You know, Dad, if we didn't have to live in a museum, maybe we could have some ac."

He snapped his head upward to look at me. Pulling his readers down on his nose, he squinted. "Plenty of cool air down at the office. Any Knickerbocker is welcome anytime."

His expectations were ever-present, even when unspoken. They carried a weight heavier than the humid air. I tensed. "Got a planning session, Dad. The juniors kick their league off next month, and Rory sees me as one of the key coaches."

"Ayuh, that little hockey camp of yours." He waved a hand to dismiss me and turned back to the fan. The gesture, seen a thousand times before, always made me feel a little smaller. "Meanwhile, family business—"

"Is doing just fine without me." I finished his sentence. "Not gonna can my dreams and ambition just 'cause you can't deal with the future."

Dad gritted his teeth, and I watched a muscle twitch in his cheek. He slowly stood, scraping his chair against the linoleum. "Who are you? Oh, you're my son, the man who knows everything. What's college done for ya?" He poked my chest. "Turned you into a big shot, too good for an honest day's work."

"In your office, it would be honest?" The word had a bitter taste on my tongue. "Isn't nepotism a little unfair from the get-go?"

Suddenly, the fan groaned and then sputtered to life. It created a light, weak breeze, but it wasn't nearly strong enough to cool the heat generated by Dad and me. He lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "Don't use that tone around me, Zachary. Don't ever forget everything I've done—"

"For me. Yeah, you're the best." The statement came out more sarcastic than I intended. He only used my given name when I'd gotten under his skin. I loved my old man. There was no doubt, and I knew he loved me, too. That didn't stop it from being painful at times.

"Save the speech, Dad. I've heard it before." I decided to skip breakfast and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my right shoulder. "Gotta go. Otherwise, I'll be late meeting Rory."

I let the screen door slam behind me as I left the house. For once, I'd had the last word. It took me a few moments to process that.

The outside heat hit me hard. In the sunlight, it was even worse than inside the house, but it was better than letting Dad's hurt feelings suffocate me.

As I trudged along the sun-baked sidewalk, my clothes clung to my sweaty skin like a second shadow. The cloying, sweet scent of overripe strawberries from Mrs. Callahan's garden found its way to my nose.

I was already halfway to the arena when I had a sudden revelation. It always took me some time after events happened for the meaning to rise in the back of my mind. This new insight was about the weather.

The uncomfortable heat wasn't only physically annoying. It also seeped deeper inside and made us all moody.

At the best of times, since I turned 13, Dad and I were like two ships blowing foghorns at each other as they passed in the night, but we were always civil. The heatwave made that tenuous. Our raw nerves sparked like downed power lines. I needed to give him a little bit of a break.

When I reached Gus's Groceries, I decided to take a brief breather. Leaning against the warm brick wall, I exhaled. Almost every argument with Dad since I got back began with a comment about the heat. His efforts to keep our aging army of fans running constantly frustrated him.

"Shit," I sighed and raked fingers through my hair, damp with sweat. Guess I could be a grown-up about all of this .

I pushed off the wall and continued the walk to the arena. The air would be cool there, and I'd be in my element on the ice. It'd give me even more time to think about ways to bridge the rift with Dad.

When I finally reached the arena and pushed through the front doors, the relative chill made me smile. My mood rose as I pulled on my skates, lacing them tight. And… there he was.

Kade glided across the ice like he was born on skates. He practiced shots, lining up one after the other, the puck finding its spot in the net nearly every time. I gritted my teeth and hated how effortless he made it look. Watching him infuriated me, but I couldn't look away.

Our most recent experience locking horns was still fresh in my mind. Only two days had passed. Unlike the first go-round when I won, he dominated the second.

We did a shootout from center ice. He made it all look so easy, and his relative calm made me livid. One after another, the pucks slipped into the net like they were finding their way home.

I wasn't a pushover, but I shot wide a few times and let my concentration slip on a few others. In contrast, Kade was a machine. He won that competition, and we stood tied.

From a distance, I could detect a smug expression on his face. He knew I was there, and he knew I couldn't look away. We had to find a way to break the tie. Sooner would be better than later.

"Earth to Ziggy!" Rory snapped me out of my Kade fixation. I was still getting used to calling him Rory, as he suggested, instead of Coach Blake. He stood by the boards with a raised eyebrow. "Are you planning on working with me, or are you just here as an ice tourist?"

I blinked, focusing on Rory as he stood with a knowing half-smile. Even at an ungodly morning hour, he was annoyingly energetic. His lean frame practically vibrated with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything, whether drilling us on the ice or dissecting a poem in class.

A slight flush crept into my cheeks. "Sorry, just… thinking about things."

"Wouldn't be about the hockey star staying in town for the summer, would it?"

I grumbled. "He's not a star." I broke into a leisurely skate by Rory's side. "He's a spoiled rich kid with a fancy apartment who thinks he can skate on the same ice as us."

Rory chuckled. "Do I detect a little envy? Rivalry? I would have thought the two of you have a lot in common."

I nearly tripped. "Kade and me? Fuck, no." I paused. "Oops." I still tried to watch my mouth around Rory. He was my coach.

"I think I can handle that. Brooks says worse before noon almost every day."

For a moment, I pictured a sleepy Brooks. Rory's ex-hockey star partner was heading toward mid-30s, but he was still handsome as hell. A small part of me envied them.

We skated a few more strides. Rory took on a teacher tone. "Anyway, you're both top players and have to carry all the weight of expectations. I'd bet you're both trying to prove yourselves. If you ease up, maybe each has some wisdom to share."

Kade lined up another shot. The puck slammed the back of the net with an assertive thunk. "No, it's different from that." I listened to myself and knew my protest was weak.

"Maybe." Rory started to skate lazy figure eights on the ice. "I admit, on the surface, it might look like he has a cushy summer sewn up, but did you ever think the fact he's spending it in enemy territory could tell you things are a bit more complicated than that?"

I sighed. "Or he's just trying to throw it in my face."

Rory stopped. "Ziggy Knickerbocker is the sun, and the rest of us are mere minor planets rotating around him."

I tapped my stick against the ice and stared at Rory. "Damn, do I suck as much as all that? I thought I was supposed to be the good guy."

"You are a good man. Just know humility has a place now and then. Anyway, I've been putting some thought into the junior program. We could use another body out there to help us and a fresh perspective on the whole project."

I nodded, potential options running through my head. "Sure, I'll ask around. Maybe Eric—"

"I was thinking Kade. He practically landed in our laps."

My skates suddenly slid out from under me, and I nearly wiped out. Rory reached out to steady me with a firm grip on my arm. "Rory! He's the en-" I cut myself off, remembering his earlier words about unexpected insights. "I mean, are you sure that's a good idea? We barely know him."

His full-bodied laugh filled the rink. "You were going to call him the enemy. Are we fighting a war this summer? It's hockey… sports, and sometimes the best ideas come from the most unexpected places."

Across the rink, Kade gathered his gear. His gaze met mine briefly as he left the ice. Was there something there? A challenge? Or appreciation?

"I… I'll think about it," I mumbled. I wasn't yet ready to talk it out with Rory.

***

That night at Tidal Grounds, we had an early rush, but after an hour, the crowd thinned to a handful of mostly regulars. I wiped the counter down, sniffing as the lemony scent mixed with the robust coffee aroma.

I had a hard time not staring at the far corner booth. There, Kade sat hunched over a steaming mug, conversing with Silas. Their heads were close and voices far too low to hear and understand over the hiss of the espresso machine behind me.

What could the UNH golden boy possibly have to say to a guy like Silas? I was dead curious and found myself straining to catch any of the words.

"Zigster! Hey, you in there?"

The voice startled me, and I nearly knocked over a stack of clean mugs. It was Eric Callahan, my best friend from high school and college roommate at UMaine. He had one of those bright smiles that could light up the entire town. His sandy blond hair stuck out in all directions after hours spent scratching his head while coding.

Behind thick, blue-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. He'd replaced the old wireframes, and now he looked like a proper nerd with a hipster edge.

"Sorry, man." I shook my head, trying to clear Kade out of my thoughts. "Lost in thought. You want the usual?"

Eric nodded. He was the son of Fire Chief Callahan and wore a royal blue T-shirt that stretched tight across the body he'd inherited through good genes. He followed my gaze across the room.

"That's an interesting pair over there. Is our resident coffee guru consorting with the enemy? Silas hasn't flipped, has he?"

I grunted wordlessly and focused on making Eric's trademark concoction—a quad-shot espresso with a pump of vanilla and a generous splash of cream. He insisted it was the perfect fuel for app development. I couldn't argue with his success, a fitness app that funded his first year in college.

As I worked the espresso machine, I couldn't stop myself from glancing at Kade and Silas again. Kade traced the rim of his mug with a single finger while Silas spoke. Neither of them smiled.

Eric spoke up again. "You know, I heard it through the grapevine, and by the grapevine, I mean my mom who heard it from her friend who heard it from Dottie Perkins that UNH dude's having a little trouble with—"

The steam wand shrieked behind me and drowned out the rest of his words. It was a lucky accident since I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the rest. "Sorry, didn't catch that," I whispered as I slid his coffee across the counter.

He took a long sip and closed his eyes, bliss taking over. "Oh, man, that's it. You're a wizard, Zig." He leaned partway across the counter. "And you disappoint me. I mean, why haven't you been over there eavesdropping? You're all over situations at school when you wanna know who the latest hunk in your headlights is dating."

I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and missing by a country mile. "I'm at work. Unlike some people, I can't spend all day staring at a computer screen, watching little icons dance."

"Hey, how many pizzas did those icons buy you last year?" Eric narrowed his eyes and studied me intently. "Wait a minute. There's more here. Are you worried about Silas getting… um… close?"

"What? No! Of course not." I jumped on his suggestion a little too quickly. "I just… damn, I don't know. Maybe there's more to Kade than we thought."

Eric's eyebrows shot up high enough they disappeared beneath his front bangs. "He's got a first name. Why, Ziggy Knickerbocker, the next thing you'll tell me is that you want to braid his hair and swap friendship bracelets."

Before I could respond, Silas called out from halfway across the room. "You're gonna wear a hole in that counter if you keep scrubbing it like that." He headed our way.

"Sorry, Silas…. I guess I lost track while talking to Eric here."

Eric downed the rest of his coffee. "Good to see you, Silas, but I gotta jet. Zig, see you soon."

He left a little too fast. I nodded and swallowed hard. "Later."

"Good to see you, too." Silas turned his attention to me. "So, I've been meaning to ask, how's your dad doing?"

It wasn't the question I expected. "He's Dad. About the same as always. You know how he is."

"And how are you doing?"

I opened my mouth to mutter, "Fine," but it didn't come out. Instead, I said something different. "I'm… figuring things out, I guess."

Silas smiled warmly. "Isn't that the truth? I think we're all doing that. Things aren't always what they seem on the surface. It goes for people, too."

He dropped that bomb and turned his attention to cleaning up, getting ready for closing. His words mingled with the wisdom Rory shared.

When I arrived home that night, I heard an unfamiliar whir coming from my room. A sleek, new pedestal fan stood in the corner, blowing a strong, cool breeze. It was a peace offering from Dad, and it caused a lump to grow in my throat.

I lay back on the bed, trying to figure out my next move. When I heard soft footsteps, I immediately sat up.

My little sister, Emma, appeared in the doorway. She was only 16 but already wickedly observant. She crossed her arms over her chest. "So, the old man caved, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

She stepped into my room and spoke softly. "Sometimes I think you and Dad are more alike than either of you wants to admit."

"Where do you get that?"

She shrugged slightly. "I mean, you're both stubborn AF. That's one thing. And you both have this weird way of showing you care without actually saying anything." She jerked her thumb toward the fan. "Like, exhibit A, right there."

"When did you learn to analyze like that?"

"Oh, puh-leeze." Emma rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I'm the smart one in this family. You haven't noticed since you spend too much time chasing pucks and poetry." She giggled lightly.

She might have meant the words jokingly, but they hit home. I thought about my earlier conversations with Rory and Silas. Maybe I was too caught up in myself.

Emma continued, and her intonation turned more serious. "Look, I know it sounds cheesy, but... sometimes the people who bug us the most are the ones who help us grow or whatever. Like Dad, or... I dunno, that Kade guy you keep obsessing over."

I stared at her. "Obsessing? What makes you think—"

"Small town, Ziggy. Plus, I have my own ears, eyes, and brain."

As she turned to leave, she added another comment. "Just something to think about. Maybe it's time to look beneath the surface. That might help all of us."