7. Brock

I navigate my way through the maze of people in search of caffeine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air, and the low hum of conversations creates a lively backdrop to the hustle and bustle. I"ve got my sights set on a much-needed Americano when my eyes lock onto a familiar face near the counter.

It's weird to be back in Stetson Falls, but even weirder to see her face on my first day back.

Layla.

The name flits through my mind like a fleeting memory, her gaze fixed ahead. She's still so beautiful, her confidence is magnetic.

She"s engrossed in her world, as she looks at the menu board. She places her order with the barista. I take a step forward to say hi to her. I'm sure there's not still anger toward me for whatever I did, right?

What's she doing here? Layla and her family are from the next town over, Ashland. She's talking to the barista and people in the shop as if she's familiar with all of them.

As she turns her coffee slams right into me and dumps down the front of me.

"Oh my goodness, what are you doing there?" she snaps.

"I didn't realize you were turning around, Layla. I'm sorry, let me get you another cup of coffee."

She gasps. Her eyebrows furrow, and for a moment, I"m met with a look that could freeze molten lava. The atmosphere shifts, and I"m suddenly aware that something is off. Did I interrupt a bad day? The realization dawns as she levels a glare in my direction.

"How do you know my name?"

I chuckle nervously, my attempt at a casual introduction backfiring spectacularly. "I'm Brock, Eric's friend. Your brother and I've had conversations about you…"

She crosses her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Conversations about me? What"s that supposed to mean?"

I blink, realizing that my attempt at small talk has escalated into an unexpected confrontation. "I didn"t mean anything by it. Just trying to be friendly, you know?"

"Friendly? This is friendly?" She gestures between us with a sweeping motion. "You waltz over, and then claim you"ve heard about me? I don"t appreciate being the subject of town gossip, thank you very much."

"Hey, Layla," the barista behind the counter says softly. "Here's another coffee, on the house."

"Thanks, Bridget," she sighs.

She shakes her head as she turns around and looks at me in confusion.

"Look, Layla, I didn"t mean to upset you. Let"s start over. I"m Brock Bowen, you"re Layla Craig, and we"re two people trying to coexist in this chaotic coffee shop. Can we agree on that?"

"Brock?" she murmurs before she storms off.

"What just happened?" I mumble to myself as I watch her leave.

I turn around and the barista is staring at me with an apologetic smile. "She didn't mean anything by it. I think you startled her that you knew who she was and she didn't know you. She still gets frustrated with her condition."

"Condition?"

"The amnesia from that accident years ago. She doesn't remember anything or anyone that she knew before that night. It's still hard for her."

"Amnesia."

"I thought you said you were Eric's friend. Shit, are you a reporter looking for a story on Eric. You can leave."

"Reporter? What? No! I played college hockey with Eric, he was my roommate. Layla and I… shit, I am not having good luck today. Maybe I should go home."

"What's your order? I'll fill it, but if you're a reporter and lying to me then I will make sure you're banned from every business in town."

"Do you not know who I am, seriously?"

She shakes her head.

"I play for the Nashville Predators."

"If you don't play for the Bruins, then I don't know you."

"Okay, I only grew up in Stetson Falls," I chuckle. "I've been dreaming about this place since my last visit home two years ago."

"If you were home two years ago then you should know about Layla's amnesia."

"I was only home for a day and a half before I had to go back to Nashville. I didn't get to see Eric on that visit. I haven't seen Layla in six years."

I need to go home and sleep, maybe it'll be better when I wake up.

Amnesia?

Why didn't Eric ever tell me she had amnesia, he just said she didn't remember the accident.

"Brock? Is that you?" a deep voice asks behind me.

I turn around and see my childhood neighbor fully dressed in a police uniform. He's grinning widely at me as he extends his hands.

"Tyler? Is that you?"

"In the flesh," he gestures toward his uniform.

"I heard you were Chief of Police, but I never believed it," I laugh.

"Yeah, who'd have ever thought the town derelict would walk on the right side of the law."

"You know him?" the barista asks Tyler.

"Yes, we were neighbors growing up."

"Is he a reporter?"

"He's only one of the best players in the NHL."

"He said he played for some team, I didn't believe him. He had a run-in with Layla."

"Uh oh."

"You know Layla?"

"Of course! I only played league with Eric since kindergarten, I've known who she is because of that," he laughs as he shakes his head. "I've gotten to know her a lot better when she bought a house here in town."

"She lives here?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you say uh oh?"

"I'm assuming you knew her, and she didn't know you."

"Yeah, that's exactly what happened. This young lady told me she had amnesia after her accident. That's news to me."

"I think they tried to keep it pretty low-key for her sanity."

"Makes sense."

"She still has moments of frustration when she doesn't remember someone. It's rare now, especially since she's lived here for so long."

"She repeated my name and walked off."

"I think she remembers little blips of things and it's frustrating when they don't take root."

"That's a shame."

"It is. She's been through hell. She's a tough one though."

"I do remember that about her."

"I'm glad she finally dumped that jerk, Randy, though," the barista interjects from behind us.

"Bridget," Tyler laughs. "You don't need to say those things out loud."

"Everyone was thinking it. She is too good for that man."

"Randy? Didn't she used to date a guy named Randy?"

"Same douche," Bridget interjects as she hands me my order.

If I was a reporter this woman is a wealth of knowledge.

"You home for a visit or for good?"

"Off-season, so just a visit for the time being."

"That's good, it's been a while. It's good to see you."

"Yeah, it's been too long."

"Well, we're glad to have you back. Eric's been helping me out with the youth hockey league since his season is over. You should stop by sometime; the kids would be thrilled to have two professional hockey players swing through."

"I might do that. Still at the rink?"

"Yeah, we have practice tonight at four. We'd love to have you."

"I might see you there. I haven't told my parents I'm in town yet, so maybe I should stop by their place first."

"Yeah, bet your mom will be thrilled. Are you still dating that supermodel you were with?"

"Nah, I ended that last month. She wanted marriage and I did not."

"It happens," he laughs as he claps me on the back. "I should get going. Stay in touch."

I walk out of the coffee shop shaking my head.

***

I step out of my car and onto the familiar driveway, the crunch of gravel under my shoes echoing in the quiet suburban neighborhood. It"s been a while since I"ve visited my parents" house, but today feels like the right time to pay them a surprise visit. Nothing much has changed, a behemoth house surrounded by neatly trimmed lawns, cookie-cutter expensive mansions, and the wrought iron fence that frames the property. Memories flood back as I approach the front door, childhood laughter and family dinners flit through my head.

I knock on the door, and within moments, it swings open to reveal my mom, her face lighting up with delight as she sees me standing there.

"Brock! Oh, honey, what a wonderful surprise!" she exclaims, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"Hey, Mom," I say, returning the hug. It feels good to be here, to be enveloped in her warmth and love.

She pulls back, her eyes searching mine. "You look tired, sweetheart. Are you eating well? I wasn't expecting you to come home"

"I"m okay, Mom," I reply with a faint smile. "Thought it was time for a reset."

She nods, but I can see the concern lingering in her eyes. My mom has always been intuitive like that, always able to sense when something"s not quite right with me.

"Come in, come in," she says, ushering me inside. "Your father"s still at the office, but I"m sure he"ll be thrilled to see you when he gets back."

I follow her into the massive living room, taking in the familiar sight of overstuffed armchairs and family photos adorning the walls. It feels good to be back here, surrounded by the comforting familiarity of home.

As I settle onto the couch, my mom bustles around, fussing over me like she always does. She disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a tray of freshly baked cookies and a pot of steaming hot coffee.

"Thanks, Mom," I say, helping myself to a cookie. The warm, buttery scent fills the air, triggering memories of lazy Sunday mornings spent baking with her.

She takes a seat opposite me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, what brings you here, Brock? Not that I"m complaining, of course. It"s always a pleasure to have you home."

I take a deep breath, "Just needed a reset."

My mom"s face lights up with excitement. "Oh, did Tierney come too? Oh, she is such a lovely girl, isn"t she? So perfect for you in every way. I always said she was the one for you, Brock. You two are just meant to be together."

I feel a knot form in my stomach as my mom launches into her praises of Tierney. I know she means well, but hearing her gush about my ex-girlfriend only serves to remind me of everything I"ve been trying to forget.

"I know you liked her, Mom," I say gently, "but things didn"t work out between us. We wanted different things, and it just wasn"t fair to either of us to keep pretending otherwise."

My mom"s smile falters, replaced by a look of concern. "But Brock, she was perfect for you! She understood your lifestyle and your upbringing, she supported your career... I just don"t understand why you let her go."

It"s not that simple, Mom. Yes, Tierney was great in a lot of ways, but she wasn"t what I needed. She was too focused on appearances, too concerned with fitting into a certain mold. I need someone who sees me for who I am, flaws and all."

My mom nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. "I see," she says quietly. "I just want you to be happy, Brock. That"s all I"ve ever wanted."

"I know, Mom," I reply, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "And I appreciate that. But I need you to trust me on this. I know what"s best for me, even if it doesn"t always seem like it."

She smiles softly, her eyes brimming with motherly affection. "Well, I think you're making a mistake. Tierney comes from money, she comes from good people."

Tierney's family comes from oil money in Texas. We met at a fundraiser my dad put together. She's never known anything but wealth and she's very shallow because of it. She's a great girl, but I need more depth.

"I hear you," I nod slowly. "Hey, I told Tyler I'd stop by hockey practice tonight. I think I'll head that way."

"Where are you staying, honey? The door is always open here."

"I know, Mom, thanks. I got an Airbnb because I needed to clear my head on a few things. I didn't want to impose."

"Well, don't be a stranger."

She hugs me before I walk out the door. The conversation leaves me a little off-kilter. My mom is also very big on appearances and what her snotty friends think of her and her children. That's not something I care about.

What I wouldn't give for a Murphy's burger and shake right about now.

It's been too long since I've been in that restaurant and it's calling my name as I make my way to my car. I have time before youth practice, I can swing in and eat and then go check out the practice.

My diet is meticulous during the hockey season, this is a little treat I deserve.

I push open the heavy glass door of the local restaurant, the smell of sizzling burgers and fries hitting me as I step inside. I"m craving something greasy and comforting to fill my stomach. The place is bustling with the dinner rush, families laughing, and friends catching up over plates piled high with food. I make my way to the counter, scanning the menu boards for something that catches my eye.

"Hey there, Brock!"

The familiar voice catches me off guard, and I turn to see Eric waving at me from a nearby table. He"s sitting with a young boy who looks strikingly similar to him, with the same sandy blond hair and mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Eric! What are you doing here?" I ask, crossing the room to join them.

"Just grabbing some dinner with my little buddy here," he replies with a grin, ruffling the boy"s hair affectionately. "This is Breckin, by the way. Breckin, say hi to Brock."

"Hi, Mr. Brock!" Breckin chirps, flashing me a gap-toothed smile.

"Join us, please. It's been too long buddy," Eric smiles.

"It has. It's been a long time since I've been home."

"Yeah, it has. How does it feel?"

"Not much has changed. Especially my mother."

Eric throws his head back and laughs. "Still giving you a hard time?"

I nod. "So, what"s the occasion? Boys" night out?"

Eric chuckles, shaking his head. "Nah, nothing like that. I"m actually helping out with the youth hockey league, and Breckin here plays on the team. We have practice tonight, so I figured I"d treat him to a treat after school. His mom is working late tonight."

"That"s awesome," I say, impressed. "How"s he liking it?"

Breckin's face lights up at the mention of hockey, and he launches into an animated retelling of his great play in a game last weekend, complete with wild gesticulations and sound effects. Eric watches him with a fond smile, clearly proud of the boy"s enthusiasm.

"He"s a natural on the ice," Eric says proudly once Breckin finally winds down. "Reminds me a bit of myself back in the day."

I laugh, picturing a younger version of Eric tearing up the hockey rink. "I can see the resemblance."

"So, what about you? What brings you here?"

"Just grabbing a bite to eat," I reply with a shrug. "Nostalgia and all."

"You should come by practice tonight. The kids would love it. Maybe I can take another crack at you on the ice."

I grin, memories of our high school hockey days flooding back. Eric and I used to be rivals on the ice, facing off against each other in intense games that always seemed to end in a tie. It was a friendly rivalry, of course, but there was no denying the competitive spirit that drove us both.

More recently we played for the championship and the Bruins lost in sudden death.

"Yeah, those were the days," I say wistfully. "Remember that game senior year? The one that went into triple overtime?"

"How could I forget? We were both dead on our feet by the end of it."

"I think I still have nightmares about that."

We laugh, reminiscing about old times and swapping stories about our favorite games. It feels good to catch up with Eric, to share a moment of camaraderie and nostalgia during our busy lives.

We've texted on and off since we graduated college, but our lives were so busy with our hockey careers that it wasn't consistent. Anytime we played each other we'd go out for drinks or dinner, but being home felt different.

I can't tell you how many times I wanted to ask him about Layla and didn't. It was better this way, or at least so I thought until I saw her in the coffee shop today.

"We should get going. We still have to get little man's gear. Swing by the rink and hang out. It's good to have you back in town, bud."

"Thanks, Eric, I think I'll do that."

We part ways and I take a drive through town. Something is calling me to that rink.