Page 17 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)

LUCAS

I don’t know what I expected.

Maybe I thought showing up would fix everything—that seeing her would remind us both why we made this crazy decision in the first place.

Or maybe I thought we’d have an argument at worst. Then we could hash things out, leaving no doubt about where we stood.

What I didn’t expect was the feeling of disappointment and regret I saw in her eyes.

I know we didn’t make the wisest decision, but knowing that she wishes it never happened?

She thinks there’s nothing between us…nothing but a past.

There’s this sinking feeling deep in my gut, the kind that hits when you know something’s broken and you don’t have the tools to fix it.

If I weren’t in the middle of the playoffs, I’d be on my way to the nearest bar right now.

Hiding away until I had to leave again tomorrow morning.

But this is Georgetown, which means there’s a good chance my father already knows I’m back in town.

If I skip out on going home, I’ll have another issue that needs fixing.

Our relationship is already rocky. If I toss another spanner in the works, it might just break apart completely .

Besides, I’m not going to drown my sorrows and my hockey career along with it. Hannah might’ve taken a big part of me. The biggest part.

But she can’t take the game from me.

I slam my fist against the steering wheel, frustration clawing its way up my throat. I’ve never felt this helpless before in my life and it’s eating me alive.

When I saw that photo of her on social media, I didn’t hesitate. I had one thing on my mind.

Go get my wife.

In hindsight, it might’ve been better to at least let her know I was coming.

Perhaps then she would’ve reacted better.

Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference at all.

Who knows if she’s even been reading my messages.

She hasn’t picked up the phone or sent a message for a week.

If that’s not her telling me she doesn’t want this…

My jaw tightens. I should’ve known. I’m an idiot.

But the desperation at getting her back and the anticipation of seeing her again overridden every rational thought.

I didn’t think.

Just like in Vegas.

It’s what Hannah does to me. When that girl walks into a room, my mind goes haywire.

It’s been that way ever since she walked into that tutor centre.

Her golden hair braided down her back, her green eyes bright and inviting.

I immediately jumped up to help her carry all the books she brought along to help me out, desperate to be useful to her in some way or another.

I shake my head, turning off the main road where the sign reads: Walker Family Farms .

The tyres hit gravel, softly crunching beneath the weight of the truck.

Driving down the tree-lined lane, the giant branches and leaves offering shade and protection, a strange feeling stirs in my chest. In the distance, the plantation house comes into view.

It’s been in our family for generations, a testament to tradition and resilience.

Its whitewashed facade gleams in the morning light, the wraparound porch framed by sturdy columns that seem to anchor it to the earth.

And there he is—my dad.

Standing on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest, the morning rays hit the grey streaks in his hair. The lines on his face look deeper than I remember. If he’s not in the fields or in the barn working, it can only mean one thing.

He’s expecting me.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I approach. The closer I get, the heavier the weight of home presses down on me. This house, this land—it’s in my blood. No matter how far I’ve gone. But coming back always feels like stepping into a past I can’t seem to reconcile with the life I’ve built.

I haven’t spoken to my dad in a while. Not really.

After my mother’s death when I was sixteen, things took a turn in our home.

It was clear she was the glue holding all of us together, the buffer between my dreams and my dad’s expectations.

When she was gone it widened the cracks in our relationship…

and then I made it worse. I took the NHL contract instead of staying here to work with him, turning my back on the life he’d been grooming me for ever since I could hold a wrench or steer a tractor.

Pulling up in the driveway, my dad’s posture is stiff and his expression unreadable.

The resemblance between us is uncanny, down to the trimmed beard.

Getting out of the truck, the door closes with a thud behind me.

I tip my hat toward my dad as a small acknowledgment before grabbing my duffel from the truck bed, slinging it over my shoulder.

“Pastor Mark called,” he says, his voice heavy with everything he’s not saying. “I should’ve known you’d go over there before you came here.”

“Great.” I force the word out, keeping my tone flat. I climb the three steps toward the front door and instead of stepping aside to let me in, he stands firm.

I sigh, looking up at him. “I’m here now, Dad. I should’ve called.”

He huffs, sharp and filled with more frustration than anger. His expression softens slightly. “You’re always welcome, Lucas.”

I’m not sure that’s true anymore.

Not after the way I’ve let him down, or how I let my mom down.

Her memory clings to this place, to every corner of this porch.

Being here just makes it harder—a constant reminder that I chose New York over this life, over sticking with my dad and Noah.

I know she wanted me to follow my dreams, but she also wanted Dad and I to get along.

I make the time to come home in the off season, but all that does these days is remind me that I’m not pulling my weight when it comes to the family business.

Noah has taken up my role with ease and even though he’s better at the job than I ever was when I was his age, he shouldn’t have to carry that responsibility.

My dad might never say it outright, but I know he’s still waiting for me to step up and take my place. I’m not sure he’ll ever let that go.

“That’s great, Dad.” I struggle to keep the irritation from my voice but I keep his gaze.

We look so much alike—the same sharp edges and dark eyes, but where I’ve got my mom’s softer smile, he’s all grit.

Noah, with his lighter hair and easygoing demeanor, takes after her more.

Sometimes I think that’s why I clash so much with my dad—we’re too much alike, cut from the same cloth.

“Your brother is out in the east cornfield, the John Deer is acting up again,” Dad says, stepping aside to let me pass. The sharp smell of his favorite tobacco trails after him as we enter the house.

“I was about to go down when the phone rang,” he says, his voice clipped with a hint of irritation.

The wooden floorboards groan beneath my boots as I step inside. Taking my cap off, I hang it on the banister before running my hand through my hair. My eyes dart toward the staircase which leads to my old bedroom, and the hot shower that has my name written on it.

“I’d like to take a shower first,” I say, my voice measured. “Then I’ll go help Noah. I have to be on the road again early tomorrow morning.”

Dad doesn’t budge. Instead he gestures toward the kitchen. “Don’t you think we should talk about why you’re here? There’s coffee and breakfast.”

Coffee doesn’t sound half bad right now, but I can do without the confrontation that will undoubtedly go with it.

I shift on my feet, giving a half-hearted shrug. “There’s not much to say.”

Dad steps into my view, cutting off my escape route to the stairs.

“That’s obviously a lie, Lucas. You’re here before the sun is even up, in the middle of the playoffs no less.

I saw you on TV a few hours ago and now you’re standing here in my hallway.

Pastor Mark didn’t sound too eager to relay the news that my son thought it wise to show up at his house unannounced, leaving his daughter in tears. ”

He actually watched my game?

Hannah’s in tears?

I didn’t think he ever watches my games because he sure hasn’t done that live.

The fact that he watches me play takes a backseat, and instead I focus on Hannah’s reaction to our conversation.

Thinking about her being in tears cuts deeper than I expect, especially after the way she reacted to seeing me.

My grip tightens on the strap of my duffel, the ache in my chest spreading.

The image of her crying, of her hurting, unsettles something deep inside of me.

Shaking my head, I refuse to take the bait. Without another look at him, I head upstairs. “It’s not what you think, Dad,” I say over my shoulder.

“What’s going on? I thought you and the girl were through? Is that not why you decided to leave me short-handed? Because you couldn’t stand to stay home when she decided to kick you to the curb?”

I stop halfway up the stairs, his words hitting a nerve.

If Hannah wanted to stay in Georgetown, then I probably would’ve stayed with her.

But back then I also knew that going to New York was the only way I would’ve been able to see if I had something more in me, if I had what it takes in hockey.

At the end of the day, it was my own decision.

Turning slowly, I grip the railing, leveling my gaze at him.

“You think I left because of Hannah?” My voice is sharper than I intended, but with everything I’ve had to go through these past twenty-four hours, I’m at my limit.

“That’s not fair, Dad. I left because it was my shot, a once in a life-time shot, to do something with my life.

You think I wanted to leave everything behind?

You think it was easy walking away from her? From you and Noah?”

Dad doesn’t flinch, instead he straightens, still standing as tall as me.