Neptune Bay was a quaint, yet stunning, seaside town located along the coast of Maine. There were sandy beaches lined with colorful beach huts and a thriving marina, a wooden boardwalk that stretched nearly the length of the entire town, miles of trails that weaved their way through the surrounding forest, and a loving community who supported one another like a giant extended family.

The town was a treasure to not only the townspeople, but to thousands of tourists who flocked to its shores during the summer months in an effort to escape their own busy lives. It was where I'd grown up, and while I no longer called it home, there was always a piece of me that felt immediately at ease when I visited.

Except for today.

As I drove passed the welcome sign that boasted a proud population of 2,047, I was anything but relaxed. On edge, restless, nervous, grief-stricken—take your pick. I was all of those and more, mixed together in a melting pot of emotion. All because of one drunken idiot who'd not only blown my team's chances at a Stanley Cup with his ill-timed stupidity, but had gotten behind the wheel and, as a result, had ended his life as well as my brother Liam's and sister-in-law Thea's when he'd crashed into their car.

The news had been gut-wrenching to hear. Not only because my teammates had watched with bated breaths as I'd scrambled for my cell phone in my locker after the team publicist had spoken, but because the moment the line connected to my mother's cell, it wasn't her voice I heard, but my dad's. His words were strained as he explained, with several pauses in an attempt to keep a hold of his emotions, what had happened. And through it all, I could hear my mom's cries of anguish in the background as she fell apart.

My heart had cracked in that moment, and unable to go back onto the ice, let alone say a word to the men that surrounded me, the back-up goalie had been tasked with guarding the net in overtime.

And unsurprisingly, given the fact that the news had shaken my teammates, we'd lost. Barely two minutes had passed before the puck sailed into the top corner of our net, effectively ending the Knights' season.

At the demand of Coach, there'd been no press conference following the game despite the myriad of questions reporters and fans had. What had happened? Why was the team being so secretive? Where was Nyberg? But despite the pressure, no information was leaked to the general public about what had gone down in the locker room that night. They would get their answers—tonight, after the funeral, when the team released an official statement—but for now, nobody but those close to me knew the pain I was in.

Which was a small blessing, because while in Neptune's Bay I tended to wipe my phone clean of social media. Meaning for the rest of the summer there would be no Twitter threads or news articles about the devastating hand I'd been dealt for me to happen across while scrolling mindlessly. I would be tucked safely away from the nosy, yet good-intentioned, hockey fans of America and planned to spend all the time I could with the family I had left.

And yes, that last thought was as harrowing as it sounded.

My hands clenched tighter around the steering wheel as the tree line slowly began to open up, giving a picturesque view of the west shore. Where dozens of families seemed to be enjoying the early afternoon sunshine on this first weekend of June. Where I'd spent countless summer days myself, alongside Liam, when we were just kids.

As if he could feel the bubble of sadness growing inside me, my dog, Scout, leaned over the center console of my SUV and licked my chin.

Shooting him a dismal attempt at a smile, I reached over with one hand to scratch his head the way I knew he loved. "Thanks, big guy," I said softly. "I might need more of that support in a few minutes, okay?"

Scout barked once in understanding.

"Good boy."

With my eyes on the road, I tried not to let my thoughts get too sentimental as I drove passed every familiar place that had played a role in my upbringing. The elementary school, the ice cream parlour, the marina—all staples for the townspeople of Neptune Bay. Instead, I turned up the radio, letting 80s rock music blast from the speakers as I took the familiar roads to the secluded waterfront house Liam had purchased years ago with Thea.

But after I pulled into the gravel driveway, dust kicking up around the vehicle as I killed the engine, I had to take a minute to grapple with the sadness crawling its way up my chest. My parent's vehicle was parked beside Thea's—or what used to be hers—and Liam's shiny red car that I'd helped him restore a few summers back was nowhere in sight.

Because it had been destroyed in the accident.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and took a series of deep breaths. Not that they helped put a lid on my emotions, but they stopped the tears from coming as I pushed open my car door and stepped out.

The ocean breeze hit me immediately, invading my senses as well as Scout's, who jumped over to my seat before landing on the ground next to me. Before I even had a chance to close the door, he bounded across the lawn and approached the front door as it opened.

My dad stood there, and for a moment, seeing Scout brightened his expression. A rough chuckle even escaped his lips as he ran his fingers through Scout's fur, but my dog's attention was quick to wane. Skirting passed my dad, he trotted further into the house, and the subsequent change in my father's features happened in a snap.

There were notable dark circles beneath his eyes and scruff that was a few days old—something that was relatively unheard of given he preferred to be clean shaven. The few wrinkles in his face looked more pronounced than ever, his mouth was settled into a partial frown, and his posture was hunched, as though weighed down by grief.

Because while I had lost a brother, him and my mom had lost a son.

My steps toward the front door felt heavy, as though being here, at Liam's house without him, was the beginning of cementing that this was real. That he truly was gone.

"Hi dad," I said, forcing the words out.

"Ryan," he responded, his voice deep as he pulled me into a tight hug, clapping me on the back. "It's good to see you, son."

I swallowed hard, sinking into the moment and resting my head against his shoulder. "It's good to see you too," I spoke slowly. After a few seconds, I began to pull back. "Though not under these circumstances."

"I know, son. I never thought your mom and I would be in this situation, but here we are." My dad squeezed my shoulder, taking a moment before continuing. "And even with the funeral this afternoon, I don't think everything will sink in for days. Weeks. Maybe even months."

At mention of the funeral, I was reminded that while the news felt fresh—so much so that the pain I'd felt in the locker room still pulsed through my veins—it'd in fact been four days since things had been turned upside down for our family.

I'd wanted to return to home immediately in support, especially since the hockey season had gone up in flames, but my parents had, in their mourning, talked me out of it. They'd convinced me they had things handled. Had said I wasn't in the right frame of mind to embark on the three-hour journey home, and judging by the way I'd mindlessly attended the end of season meetings with the Knights, seemingly just going through the motions I did every year, they were likely correct.

That didn't make it any easier though. Knowing that I could have been here to help plan the funeral, to call our extended family with the news, and to shield my parents from the pity party gossip train that was sure to be making its way through town. Instead, my parents had done it alone.

I slipped my hands into my pockets in an attempt to curb the guilt gnawing at my mind. "How's mom been?"

"About as good as can be expected," my dad replied quietly. "She's been crying more often than not since we got the news, but has somehow managed to find the strength to help me pull together the funeral with Thea's parents. Like if she didn't it would somehow be an insult to Liam's memory."

"Damn, dad. Do you think she'll take the time to rest after today?"

He sighed heavily. "I hope so."

"And Bowen?" I asked, concerned for my six-year-old nephew who'd lost his parents. "How is he holding up?"

This time, my dad lifted a hand and ran it over his face. "Honestly, we're not really sure." That didn't sound good. "He's six, so he can sort of grasp the idea of death, but we don't know how much he understands. Overall, he's been really quiet and distant, but we don't want to push him to talk too soon. We just have no idea how going through something like this so young will affect him."

"Has he been staying with you guys then?"

"For the most part," my dad replied. "There's been a handful of times when friends have watched him for a few hours while your mother and I took care of things with the lawyers, but otherwise he's been at our place." Taking a step to the side, he motioned me into the house. "But he wanted to be here when you arrived."

"He's here?"

He nodded. "In the living room, with your mom."

Stepping into the house, I was overcome with an unsettling feeling that I was doing something wrong. That I was intruding on the place Liam and Thea had made a home. From the pictures hanging on the walls to the keepsakes above the fireplace to the small pile of toys at the bottom of the stairs, everywhere I looked seemed to be a reminder that I was seeing something the two of them would never see again.

And knowing that I would be living here for the next couple of months without them, well, that was even to swallow.

The sound of my footsteps must have been enough to alert my mom of my presence, because as I rounded the corner into the living room, her gaze immediately snapped to mine. The sadness emanating from her features had me holding back tears, because as my dad had said, my mom was wearing her emotions on her sleeve.

"Oh Ryan," she said, quickly getting up from her spot on the sofa to hug me, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too, mom," I replied, wrapping my arms tightly around her and holding on. "Me too."

"Hi Uncle Ryan," Bowen said softly.

Lifting my head, I glanced over my mom to see my nephew sitting on the floor next to the sofa, his hands combing through Scout's fur. His eyes were wide and red from crying, still dressed in his favourite duck pajamas that he'd gotten from his parents last Christmas, and Scout had somehow managed to curl his body around him.

Leave it to my dog to have the instincts to find the person who was hurting the most and offer them comfort.

"Hi buddy," I said, clearing my throat as I attempted some semblance of a smile. Though it was shaky at best.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he was doing, but I held back, because it was obvious he was heartbroken. And while my parents had each other to get through their pain, Bowen didn't really have anyone.

Except, maybe, me.

Letting my arms fall from around my mom, I reached for her hand as to not completely step away from her. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but would it be okay with you if I talked to Bowen alone?"

My mom hesitated for a moment, as though she was about to disagree but thought better of it. "Are you sure?" she asked, her grip on my hand tightening. "You just got here."

I pulled her back to me and gently kissed her forehead. "I'm sure, mom. You and dad head home. The two of us will meet you at the funeral at one thirty."

At the mention of the funeral, which was set to begin in a few hours, my mom burst into tears. My eyes widened, wondering what I could do, but before I could rack my brain for the right course of action, my dad stepped up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, urging me to take a step back.

"Shh, it's okay, Rebecca," he muttered, doing his best to soothe her. "I know you're hurting, hell, we all are, but we have to get through today. And then the next. And the next."

Once he trailed off, my dad looked back over his shoulder at me and mouthed Sorry, but I shook my head. There was no need to apologize.

"We'll see you in a bit?" he asked, and when I nodded in confirmation the two of them slowly made their way towards the door.

A deep sigh left my lips once the telltale sound of the door closing echoed throughout the house, and for a second, I wondered how the hell I—or my parents—were going to make it through the rest of this dreaded day.

"Ryan?" Bowen said meekly, peeking up at me from his spot on the floor.

I walked over to him and took a seat on the sofa. "Yeah?"

"I don't like seeing grandma sad."

"Oh, kid," I started softly, motioning for him to join me. When he didn't move right away, the thought crossed my mind that I was doing something wrong, because hell, while I loved Bowen, I was away a lot of the year. I was normally the fun uncle, and this type of comfort was out of my wheelhouse. But then, after a few seconds, he slowly crawled up onto the cushions before snuggling into my side. And not wanting to be left out, Scout turned around to face us, dropping his head onto Bowen's legs. "I don't like seeing her sad either, but she's only crying because she loved your dad so, so much."

Bowen sniffled, lifting his head slightly. "Grandma and grandpa said my mom and dad died. That they aren't coming back."

I swallowed hard, slowly rubbing his back. "Sadly, they were telling the truth."

"But I miss them," he said, clinging onto me as his tears started to fall. "I don't want them to be gone."

"I know, buddy. I know," I replied, not knowing what else I could do to console him as I began to get choked up myself. "But I promise you, Bowen, I'm not going anywhere."