"I told you I had invited Zack. When we were finishing up a class with the little kids. You said it was cool, although it’s possible you weren’t quite focused at the time," Aaron said.
Katie briefly turned her murder eyes on Brendan.
“Hi, Zack!” Aaron said brightly to deliberately change the topic. “How was your drive?”
“Very peaceful. I would have been here earlier, but I got stuck behind a tractor.” He held out a foil-wrapped casserole dish. “Also, I brought food.”
Aaron’s stomach gave a pleased flutter at the sight of Brendan accepting the dish from Zack. Folding Zack into the little domestic routines of TCI was definitely promising. Also, he appreciated guys who could cook.
Behind Aaron, quietly enough that he was pretty sure he was the only one who could hear, Katie muttered, “You could have just asked me.”
“Yeah, but this is more fun,” he whispered back.
“Nightmare child,” she retorted.
Another door squeaked and slammed, this time from the back of the house. Huy bounded into the kitchen from the back deck, glowing with the joy that seemed to be his default state of being.
“Aaron!” Huy beamed and threw himself at him, hugging him so hard his feet lifted off the ground. Aaron laughed and squeezed him back. They didn’t spend a lot of time together off the ice, but the daily routine of training at TCI hadn’t felt complete without his energy. Or his playlists of all Canadian dance music all the time at seven a.m. warmups.
Charlotte got a hug too. Once Huy had set her back on her feet, he turned to face Zack. He looked ready to tackle-hug him too, but Zack backed up a step, Aaron suspected unconsciously. Belatedly, he realized that Zack probably didn’t know anything about his and Huy’s history. Certainly, he wondered what he thought of the exuberant display of physical affection between them all.
Huy looked Zack up and down. "Who are you? Are you a hockey guy? I don't bite!"
Aaron recognized Huy evaluating someone he’d put in the ‘potential hookup’ category and had to stifle a laugh.
“He is the journalist,” Charlotte said tartly, returning to her perch on the stool. “Here to write about Aaron.”
“Ohhhh.” Something in Huy’s face shuttered, and Aaron watched in awe as Huy switched his public face on. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. Technically, my assignment is to cover all the top U.S. contenders for the Olympic team slots. Not just Aaron. And I’m not here on the record tonight. Aaron took pity on me and invited me along.”
“Pity, hmmm?” Huy looked between Zack and Aaron in a way that was entirely too knowing. Aaron wished he were close enough to step on his foot.
ZACK FELL INTO THE conversation at dinner as if he’d been part of the group for ages. He and Aaron sat next to each other at the table, occasionally bumping elbows while Aaron bantered with Huy and Zack talked hockey with Charlotte.
Aaron still missed home: The quiet summer nights on the island, boat trips on the lake, time together with his family. But on nights like this, Aaron was happy. The people gathered around the table tonight weren’t his blood, but they were as much his family through shared work and commitments.
“Do you want a tour?” he asked Zack once the table had been cleared. Aaron wanted some time alone with Zack, but if he was eventually going to write about TCI life, seeing the farm—off the record or on—was a must.
“Of?” Zack asked, setting a last stack of plates by the sink. Brendan was busy washing dishes and had waved away their offers of help. Katie, Charlotte and Huy were starting a card game and would probably be occupied for a while.
“The farm, obviously,” Aaron said.
Zack’s forehead creased. “What is there to see?”
“What is there—” Aaron repeated, staring at Zack’s confusion in suddenly dawning realization and consternation. Was it really possible for someone to not know what there might be to see on a farm? “Have you never been on a farm?”
“Farms, yes. A Midwestern American farm, no.”
“Why not?” Aaron was curious.
“Because I’m from Florida and write about wars,” Zack said.
“Wars affect farms, right?” Aaron asked.
“Yes, but again, American farms.”
“Well, now you’re writing about figure skating. And we’re figure skaters who take breaks on an American farm.” Aaron grabbed Zack’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “We’ll be back later!” he called over his shoulder.
“What the hell does a farm have to do with figure skating?” Zack asked as Aaron towed him into the yard.
The evening air was warm and humid. Clouds were building up to the west, and the sun shone dramatically across them to make the sort of sunset worthy of any Instagram post.
“Looks like there’s going to be a storm tonight,” Aaron said, looking up at the sky.
“That’s not an answer.”
“On a farm,” Aaron said. “Weather matters.”
“Okay?”
They strolled shoulder-to-shoulder down the track that led to the barns. “Whatever you do, there’s always factors that are beyond your control—on a farm and in skating.”
“Ahhhhhh.”
“Rain, the other skaters, not enough rain, the quality of the ice, bugs, the vibe of a competition,” Aaron listed.
“External factors.” Zack sounded both amused and exasperated. “Everyone deals with them. How are yours different?”
“Ugh.” Aaron kicked at a pebble in the path. He wanted to show Zack this part of his life—of all their lives—that was so important, but so hard to explain. He didn’t have the right words.
Zack waited patiently. Aaron could feel the weight of his attention like a warm hand on his arm.
“Katie asks me that too,” he said. “Whenever we start talking about my programs for a season. She wants to know what makes me different, as a skater.”
“What does make you different as a skater?”
“I don’t know,” Aaron burst out. “Except that I come from an island that’s weird the way this farm is weird. And I don’t mean farms in general, I mean, this farm. It has an energy to it, and
