Frostbitten: The Complete Series (49 page)

“Kane!” Brittany said sharply, digging her fingers deeper into Kane’s back, piercing his skin.

Kane lifted his head up and looked towards the ceiling. He opened his mouth and released a battle cry—a fierce, frustrated and angry battle cry. He was intensely overpowering. Each swift entry was painful, but curiously euphoric. Brittany was starting to surrender to the intense force of her boyfriend.

Their positions had become awkward, uncomfortable. The force of the act had brought them up against the wall behind the bed. The sheets, blankets and pillows were a mess around them. A simple solution was a quick moment of repositioning—but such a moment didn’t have a place in Kane’s itinerary. Stopping was not an option.

“Oh God,” Brittany cried. Her head flung back and her body became tense. She dug her nails deep into Kane, and Kane released another blood-curdling cry.

A final series of powerful thrusts, and the moment was over. Kane’s body went completely limp over his pretty young girlfriend, and his face sunk into the mattress. He didn’t mutter a word between his deep breaths.

That familiar cold breeze snuck through the thin apartment walls once again, chilling Brittany’s body and sending a tingle down deep into her spine. Something was gone, suddenly missing between her and Kane—something had been lost. All of those familiar, crippling anxieties returned to Brittany’s mind.

Would Kane stay for her? Were they in love? Was all this just stupid lust? 

Kane rolled off of Brittany without a word. He went straight for the bathroom and he closed the door behind him. Neither had his anxieties hadn’t gone anywhere.

After a few silent minutes, Brittany approached the bathroom and tapped the door. “Kane? Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

There was a silent delay. “Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

There was another delay. After a moment, Kane opened the door.

“What is it?” Brittany asked.

“I don’t think we should see each other for a bit…”

“What? Why?”

Kane stared down at his feet.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Brittany asked.

“No—I just—I just need to figure some things out before we go any further with this.”

“Things? What things?” Brittany asked. “I can help you figure things out—let me help you.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Hurt?” Brittany said. Kane wouldn’t look Brittany in the eyes. “I—I thought you were done with that...” Brittany said.

“It’s complicated. I—I need to see this through, Brittany. I’m sorry.”

Kane walked into the bedroom and started to stuff his bag. Brittany watched with watering eyes.

“You can stay here if you want—until I come back. But it’s best if you stay with your family. I promise that this isn’t the end, Brittany.”

“Back? When will you be back? Where are you going?” Brittany said.

“It’s best that I don’t say.”

Within moments, Kane was fully dressed and packed. He quickly walked up to the door. Brittany looked around Kane’s room, at all of his hunting gear: that was Kane’s priority—that was the most important thing to him. Brittany was secondary, at best. Brittany was just an afterthought.

“Bye, Brittany.”

Brittany stared into Kane’s eyes, defeated. “Bye.”

CHAPTER NINETY
THE FUNERAL

It was one of those rare Snowbrooke winter days, where the sun was not obscured by the clouds, and the air was not disturbed by the wind. The weather was still cold—cold enough to kill your exposed skin if you weren’t careful. That didn’t stop the family and friends of the late Wade Fenner from braving the frigid winter day to attend the burial.

There were very few tearless eyes watching that casket as it gently swayed in the air—waiting for the cue to begin its descent. The wooden casket had already accumulated half an inch of fresh snow since being carried out by the pallbearers.

Michael stood before the crying crowd. His gut was nauseated and his heart was in a state of perpetual pain, but he remained strong for the sake of his family. If he couldn’t keep himself together,
then who could?
Who was left to lean on? Michael knew his father would want him to be strong—for Laura, for Cassie and especially for the very young Lily.

“Everyone knew a part of my father,” Michael said as he looked down at a written eulogy. “Everyone knew my father, the writer—My father, the teacher. People knew my father, the coach—or my father, the athlete. Some of us knew my father: the father—the dad. Everyone who knew my father, Wade Fenner, knew the wise man.

“Not many people here know Wade as a whole. Very few of you knew the athlete, the coach, the teacher, and the father. It’s hard for most people to understand that one person could be all of those things. It was hard for me, at times, to believe it. Sometimes I was guilty of discrediting my dad. I would think, ‘
How do you know
.’ But he did know—he knew it all. Some people talk. Everyone talks—everyone’s a talker. My dad wasn’t a talker. He was a
doer
. My dad had the experience to back up every stubborn fact that he ever said.”

Michael looked up at the crowd of weeping family and friends. Standing solemnly in the back of the crowd was a familiar face—his old friend and teammate, Connor. Connor stood with his hands stuffed into his pockets, watching Michael respectfully as he finished his speech.

“Sure, he was a stubborn man,” Michael said. “I’ll give you that.”

Michael turned silent as he held his speech in his hands. The image of his father’s proud smile flashed through his mind. The image of his father climbing over the boards to fight a referee at a minor’s tournament also flashed through his mind. Michael laughed, lowering his written speech.

“He was a good man, my father. He was a really good man. He always meant well. Despite what people thought, he was always just trying to help. He was a good guy…”

Michael returned to his silence. He had written more, but he had said everything. The rest was superfluous—enough had been said.

“Bye, dad,” Michael said as he turned and walked back to his family. He wrapped one of his arms around his crying mother as the funeral director took the stand to finish off the ceremony.

Even the grieving have their limits. As the cemetery staff began to fill Wade’s grave with cold, frozen dirt, everyone scurried back to their warm running cars. Everyone except, of course, for Michael. Michael was prepared to stay with his father until the freezing end..

“Michael—C’mon. You’re going to freeze out here. Let’s go home,” Laura said as she wiped the cold tears from her face.

“Just a minute,” Michael said. He did not look back at his mother.

“We’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Okay.” Michael continued to stand and watch the dirt slowly cover his father’s casket, shovelful by shovelful. 

The cold didn’t bother him. The cold only bothered the weak—that was something else his father taught him, early in his hockey career. It was in a town called Jasper, and all of the other kids were crying because the rink was so cold. “It’s just another obstacle—another thing that separates the hockey legends from the telemarketers.”

“Hey,” a voice said from behind Michael.

The tall hockey player turned around. Connor stood behind him, with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” Michael said, turning back to his dad’s grave. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Yeah—I’m sorry about your dad. I—I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t expect you to say anything. Just coming means a lot.”

“Yeah. Well, he was a good guy. You were right about that.”

“A lot of people thought he was an asshole. He really wasn’t an asshole.”

“I know,” Connor said.

Michael stood in silence for a moment as a cold chill swept by. “You still play? I heard you quit.”

“I’m trying to get back into it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You try out for any teams?” Connor asked.

“No—Well, there was this one next weekend, but…”

“Right…” Connor said, awkwardly shuffling his feet to keep his toes alive.

“I don’t know when the next one will be.”

Connor looked down at Wade’s grave. “Why not just go to this one?”

Michael turned and looked at Connor. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I feel like your dad would have wanted you to go.”

Michael’s eyes glazed over as that familiar memory replayed again—his father grabbing that ref by the collar and lifting him off of the ground.

“He probably would have wanted to try out himself,” Connor joked.

Michael smiled. “Yeah, he certainly would have… Maybe I will.”

“You should—I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it, of course.” Connor smiled. A cold breeze pierced his thick coat, reminding him it was probably time to seek warmth. Connor began to turn around to leave.

“What about you?” Michael asked.

“Me?”

“If you aren’t playing, what are you up to. I mean, besides English class.”

“Oh. I don’t know—I guess that’s it. I’m just going through the motions these days, you know?”

“Seeing anyone?” Michael asked.

“Um,” Connor said. Hanna’s beautiful face flashed through his mind. Then, the thought of her true identity came rushing back. “It’s complicated,” Connor said.

“Yeah,” Michael replied. “It always is, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” Connor said.

The conversation turned back to silence. Connor’s toes were beginning to burn from the piercing cold. He started to turn around again to leave. Michael looked back down at the casket as a pile of dirt covered the final visible spot on the casket.

“I’ll kill him,” Michael said.

“What?” Connor asked.

“Whoever did this. I’ll kill him if I ever find him. He’d better be praying the police find him before I do, because I won’t have any sympathy. I won’t have any remorse. I will make him regret this.”

The image of Hanna flashed through Connor’s mind again. Michael’s rage was so intense, the snow was practically melting around his feet. The fact that Hanna was a small girl probably wouldn’t stop the heavyweight enforcer from ripping her in half—or getting himself killed trying.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll see you around,” Connor said.

Michael didn’t respond as he continued to stare down at the hole, which contained his late father.

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
SLEEPLESS IN SNOWBROOKE

Michael was unable to sleep that night. He stayed up in the quiet living room, long after his mother and his sisters had gone to sleep. When he finally decided he would try to sleep, he simply stared at the stucco ceiling of his bedroom for what felt like hours. He was exhausted, his eyes were heavy. But his body had not interest in sleep. There would be no sleeping that night.

Once Michael finally accepted his insomnia, he decided to leave. Michael knew all too well that being alone with your thoughts could be dangerous.

Without waking up his family, Michael took off and found himself driving down the dark, snow-ridden Snowbrooke streets. He scanned all of the local businesses for an
open
sign. Even the town’s little twenty-four hour café was closed because of bad business.

There was, however, one establishment still open—a faint glow drew Michael towards an unlikely spot, on the perimeter of the local university where his late-father worked.

The Winter’s Den.

Michael considered turning around, uncomfortable with the idea of hanging out at his dad’s old stomping ground. But the thought of wallowing in his own grieving mind was a far worse one. Michael pulled up to the little joint and threw his truck into park. It was 3:00AM—long after any bar should have closed.

Michael wasn’t in the mood to question the joint’s peculiarly late opening. He walked inside and looked around. All of the televisions were on, and the chairs were all neatly placed in front of the tables. It was unusually clean, for being so desolate, so empty.

Eric Daniels sat at the bar, watching the nightly hockey-highlight reel on the local sports channel. He looked over at Michael swiftly, surprised to have a customer at such an hour. “You scared me,” Eric said.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said.

“No, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to come in this late.”

Michael looked around. “So why are you open?”

Eric laughed. “I don’t really know. I didn’t feel like being at home—couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” Michael said.

Eric sprung to his feet and walked around the bar. Eric began quoting the television perfectly: “Three goals and three assists, setting a defensive record for the leafs. Carlyle didn’t have a lot say about Phaneuf’s performance.” Eric switched voices, imitating the next speaker on the television. “Yeah. I’m happy—You don’t see a lot of defensemen pulling in those kinds of numbers. He played the whole sixty, and that’s all we could ask from him…” Eric had clearly been watching the loop for far too long.

“Slow night?” Michael asked.

“You have no idea. They closed the residence the other day, sent all the students home to their parents. Haven’t had a customer in… going on three days now. What can I get you?”

“Whatever’s on special,” Michael said.

“It’s all on special. It’s all free. It’s all going to go flat and get thrown out. How’s about one of these fancy Belgium import beers?”

“I’ll just have a Pilsner.”

Eric laughed. “It’s all free, and you pick the cheapest thing on tap.” He pulled out a clean glass and began to pour Michael a beer. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Alright.” Eric waited a moment as the foam settled before handing the beer off to Michael. He stood behind the bar as Michael took the first sip from the cool drink. “Anything else? Water—peanuts?”

“No, thanks.”

Eric tapped his fingers against the bar as he looked around for anything else to keep his mind occupied—off of his fallen brother. The bar was already spotless. He’d already cleaned and polished everything. He’d changed every light bulb, and scraped every piece of old chewing gum from under every single table. He had even artistically written out the bar’s menu on the large chalk board, over the bar—something that hadn’t been done since before Eric was born. There was absolutely nothing left for him to do.

“The Flyers expanded their streak to six with a pair from an unlikely third-liner,” Eric quoted as he walked back around the bar to continue watching the endless highlight loop. The two grieving men sat silently together as they stared mindlessly at the repeating television loop.

A swift breeze soared through the room as the bar door opened unexpectedly. Someone else had arrived at the bar—another sleepless soul.

Dressed in her fitted white designer coat and standing at the bar’s entry was Brittany. She closed the door behind her before turning to face the two solemn men. Eric and Michael turned in unison, mutually shocked that there was yet another member of the Insomniacs Committee. Michael looked back at the television.

Eric immediately recognized Brittany—the girl his late-step-brother was head over heels over. He sprung to his feet. “Hey,” he said.

“Hello,” Brittany said as she pushed her hood off of her head.

“Sit anywhere you’d like—What can I get for you?”

“Um—I’m not sure.” Brittany walked over to the bar and took a seat, a few stools down from Michael. She looked up at the television, and, like the other insomniacs, got lost in her own mind while her eyes stared up at the flashing screen.

Eric looked at Brittany curiously while he poured her a drink. Before Andrew was killed, Brittany was everything Andrew could talk about, but Eric knew next to nothing about this Brittany girl—nothing except for the fact she went home with Thomas, the British student, the night he was killed. Eric passed Brittany her drink.

“Drinks are on the house tonight,” Eric said.

“No—That’s not necessary,” Brittany replied.

“Unfortunately, it is. It either goes into you or into the alley.”

Brittany smiled. “Okay—Thanks.”

Eric smiled. As far as Eric knew, Brittany was Andrew’s killer, but he knew it would be foolish to make that accusation. Besides—looking at the girl—Brittany seemed more interested in the latest fashion craze than
murder
.

“I’ll be in the back washing dishes,” Eric said, turning towards the kitchen and leaving Michael and Brittany alone together.

Michael continued to stare at the television screen. “Can’t sleep either?” he asked without looking over.

Brittany looked over at Michael. “Yeah.”

“What’s your excuse?” Michael asked.

“Oh, where do I begin?”

“Yeah. I hear that.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back in a time machine?” Brittany asked. “Just for one second—just to change one word.”

Michael looked over at the dark-skinned girl. “Every day,” he said.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Brittany said.

“What’s your name?”

Brittany smiled. “Brittany,” she introduced. “Brittany Brucheveskyj.”

“Nice to meet you Brittany Br—Bru…”

“Bru-chev-ski.”

“Brittany Bru-chev-ski,” Michael attempted.

“That was pretty good!”

Michael smiled.

“What’s your name?” Brittany asked.

“Michael. Michael Fenner.”

Brittany’s heart plummeted deep into her stomach. She went silent at the name “Fenner”. She knew immediately who Michael was—she watched him leave the house that night.

Michael watched as Brittany’s face flushed and her pupils dilated. “Are you okay?” Michael asked.

“What?” Brittany said.

“Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah. Sorry, I just…”

“You heard about my dad, I take it?

“Um, yeah. I—I heard.”

“Were you in his class?” Michael asked.

“Me?” Brittany was completely flustered. She hid her trembling hands under the bar.

Michael looked around at the empty bar. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a few days since I slept.”

“Don’t worry about it. My dad mentioned you. You were his
tough
student.”

“Tough?”

“You weren’t afraid to talk back.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be. I was just having a bad week,” Brittany said. “I wasn’t trying to be
tough
.”

“No, it’s good. Whatever you said to him really clicked in his brain. He came home a different person. My dad had a lot of respect for you.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. The other night he started planning a whole new curriculum because of what you told him,” Michael said. He went silent as reality sunk in. He stared down at the bar. “Life has funny timing sometimes, you know?”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Yeah…” Michael said. He looked up at Brittany. “Just wish I had that time machine, right?” He smiled.

Brittany returned the smile. Michael laughed.

“What is it?” Brittany asked. “Why are you laughing?”

“When my dad said there was a smart, stubborn, and strong-minded girl in his class, I didn’t—I mean, no offence. I didn’t expect—”

“Why’s that?”

“I mean—You’re—So small. So
chic
, with your designer clothes. I mean, you’re beautiful.” As soon as the word slipped Michael’s tongue, he turned dark red.

Brittany’s face followed suit.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not coming onto you—I just—I mean…” Michael said. It was like his mouth was falling down a very long set of stairs.

“It’s okay. I know what you meant. People are always surprised when I open my mouth.”

“I’m not like a sexist or a racist or anything like that—I mean, not that I even notice things like that. Well, you know, I notice obviously, but I don’t judge—”

“I know—It’s okay.” Brittany laughed.

Michael looked back down at his empty cup. He slid the tip of his finger around the rim of the glass. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“Thanks?” Brittany asked.

“Thanks for being so honest with my dad. He appreciated it more than you will ever know.”

Brittany’s heart felt as though it had been crushed by a tonne of bricks. Michael meant well, but that made her feel even worse, like a real bitch.

Michael smiled and looked back up at the television. “You know, for the first time since—since it happened, I actually feel… Less like shit,” Michael said. “I mean crap—Excuse my language.”

Brittany smiled.

“You know, this is going to sound weird, but I have this tryout thing in the city this weekend. If you wanted to come down and watch, that would be cool.”

Brittany’s smile fizzled away.

Michael’s expression dropped just as quickly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean, like, on a date. I just—I just thought, you know, you remind me a lot of my dad. And it’s a really important tryout, and my dad would have loved to be there—he was going to come, but you know—I mean—It’s not like you have to. I’m not trying to pity you into coming.” Michael was stumbling over himself—completely tongue-tied. His mouth continued falling down that same long set of stairs.

“I—I want to come, but I don’t think I can make it…”

“I’m sorry—I just thought I would ask. Again, I’m not trying to come onto you.”

It was a side of Michael that very few had ever seen—if anyone at all. The man with the rough and rugged reputation was stumbling over himself like a meek little teenager before The Prom.

“I mean, I think my dad mentioned you had a boyfriend in his class—and I’m not trying to step on that…”

Brittany’s pupils dilated. “Yeah—I mean, no. I mean, it’s complicated.”

“It always is, right?” Michael looked around for Eric, who was still in the kitchen washing the dishes. “He wouldn’t mind if I poured myself another glass, right?”

Brittany laughed at the bumbling hockey prodigy.