Duke's boots hit the sidewalks of Isboro for the first time in almost 12 years with an audible clack and the tingling pain of impact that started in his feet and made its way up his spine. He stretched until he heard his back release a series of pops that simultaneously relieved and concerned him.
They meant that for the time being his pain was relieved, but later it would return with a vengeance. He turned to the semi that had given him a ride and gave the grisled good ol' boy in the front seat a short wave. The truck let out a deafening honk in response and roared away back towards the interstate. Duke chuckled to himself at the cheek of the kind man and turned to amble down the Main Street of Isboro. He had no set destination in mind but his feet seemed to know where to go so he took in the familiar sights as he ambled along.
The sleepy town looked almost exactly like he had left it. The streets were worn but well maintained and had been freshly plowed only moments before. Main Street was lined with nostalgic shops and restaurants that awoke a litany of memories in his mind's eye. The diner on the corner where, as children, he and his friends had crowded around the counter for victory milkshakes. Even now he could picture the boisterous group, bickering playfully over who got to order first and whose turn it was to sacrifice their allowance for the good of the team.
The second-hand store run by a hippie couple where he had amassed his record collection. Their group had spent hours in that store, just sorting through the vast treasure trove. Whole Saturdays had been eaten up by that store and the mysteries that they had found in it. It was a new adventure every time.
The local watering hole that he had pulled his father out of more times than he could count. He would never forget the sound of his shoes sticking to the floor with each step as he half-carried a man twice his size back home. It was because of that bar that he had never touched a drop of alcohol.
The grocery where his mother had spent tense minutes watching the total add up and hoping that she had enough cash in her worn purse to cover the bill. He could never shake the stares of the people in line behind them. That sickening mix of annoyance and pity had driven him to do anything not to be back there.
The hanging stoplight where one dark and snowy night his world had shattered in a shower of broken glass, twisted metal, and flashing lights. It was at that moment his family had fallen apart.
He stood on the sidewalk staring at the patch of asphalt that dared to look so normal when it had been the site of such a pivotal moment in his life. Suddenly his vision flickered and pain flared through the side of his face. His hand rose to cup the right side of his face which burned with pain that was only a fraction of what he experienced that night. Almost like a switch had been flipped his vision flickered once more and fizzled like a TV.
Reflexively Duke knocked the side of his head and his eye once more focused on the street. His hand scrabbled in his pocket until he caught hold of the silky material of his eyepatch. Just as his vision flickered for the final time before going black and white, he tied the eyepatch over his expensive, buggy, prosthetic eye. Frustrated that his eye had chosen that moment to fail, Duke self-consciously adjusted his eyepatch so that his eye was covered and practically ran from that dreaded corner.
His heart thumping in his ears, he pounded pavement, brushing past the occasional townsperson, he saw only the gray of the sidewalk as he ran away. Suddenly he stopped and looked up, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest as his breath frantically clouded up in front of him.
He was standing in front of the biggest building in town, the strong brick exterior warm and inviting in the face of the weather. The Rec Center, affectionately known as the Pond, was the only true home he had ever known. He had spent more time here than in the house he had grown up in. His chest loosened up immediately and a wave of calm washed over him. He hurried up the steps with a sudden irrational fear that if he didn't get inside the Pond right now, it might fade away into the ether of his dreams.
As soon as his long, elegant fingers grasped the cold metal of the door handle and wrenched it open Duke was flooded with relief. Finally, finally, after 12 long years... he was home.
Duke meandered through the empty halls of the center, chuckling at the cheesy pictures that lined the walls. Generations of Isboro children had grown and learned here, and most importantly for him, it is where he had found a family. Joining the local youth hockey league had been a court-ordered punishment as a last-ditch attempt to rehabilitate a struggling kid.
The judge had taken pity on him after his umpteenth shoplifting charge had landed him in that courtroom. At this point in his life, Duke was starting to associate the courts with major life changes. He had taken the opportunity to join the hockey team only because he had seen the sheer terror in his mother's eyes when the judge had mentioned juvie. Even though Duke had technically volunteered to join the team he had strongly considered not even showing up. Nevertheless, he had gotten up early on a sacred Saturday morning, cobbled together some makeshift hockey gear, and waltzed onto the ice like he owned the place.
Looking at the younger, cockier version of himself that smirked out at him from a victory snapshot of their first big win, Duke felt a laugh bubble up out of his chest. Who knew that this ragtag group of kids on a youth hockey team would become the most important people in his life? He sure as hell hadn't when he had sized them up that very first day.
He had been 15 and desperately trying to prove to the world and himself that he was just fine on his own. That he didn't need parents or friends or anyone. He was better off on his own. So when he saw the ragtag group of younger kids he had crossed his arms and sullenly propped himself up against the boards, as far away from the others as he could get. Eventually, Phil Palmfeather, their coach, had called them all to the center ice and encouraged them to introduce themselves with a bumbling charm that made them comply if only to shut him up.
First was a tall boy with white-blonde hair and a determined look in his eye. He was as stiff as a board as he introduced himself as Will "Wildwing" Flashblade and Duke had seen the flicker of nervousness appear in his eyes as he looked at this group of strangers. His arm was wrapped tightly around the skinny shoulders of a kid barely out of elementary school who exuberantly introduced himself as Noah "Nosedive" Flashblade. He was obviously Wildwing's younger brother but the two boys were almost completely different in their personalities. While Wildwing was quiet and reserved for a thirteen-year-old, Nosedive brimmed with the energy of an excitable 8 year old plus even more. Just from the couple minutes that they had been on the ice together, Duke knew that this kid was a wild little hellion. He honestly wasn't sure if Wildwing had his arm around his brother as a protective gesture or just to keep the kid still long enough to make introductions.
Standing on the other side of Wildwing was a tan-skinned boy with golden blonde hair and chiseled looks that were only interrupted by a large bandage over his nose. He was wearing a worn brown aviator jacket and leaned up against Wildwing nonchalantly. He introduced himself as Canard Thunderbeak in a surprisingly raspy voice for a young boy. Canard looked oddly out of place in small-town Minnesota, almost like he belonged on a beach in California. However, he was confident in his skates and his hockey gear was well-worn. Duke supposed he would be a good asset to the team at the very least.
Next was a short little redhead with her fiery hair pulled back into twin braids. When it was her turn she immediately fell into a formal military salute and yelled her name out so loud that it reverberated around the rink and made Duke's ears ring painfully. He winced but smirked at the sheepish look that flashed over her face before disappearing in the face of Mallory McMallard's stubbornness. She doubled down on her salute until a confused Phil told her to relax. Though she did her best to look like a twelve-year-old marine, Duke saw her looking curiously at them when they weren't looking. She would be a hard nut to crack.
Next to her stood the hulking figure of an African American boy who was just a wall of muscle. He stared impassively at the group and in a voice too deep to belong to a ten-year-old he introduced himself as Grin Hardwing. He eyed the youngest of the group curiously when Nosedive whispered to himself, and literally everyone else, that Grin was the biggest kid he had ever seen. There was an unlikely friendship brewing between the smallest and the biggest, two complete opposites. Nosedive waved eagerly at the big kid and Grin shyly waved back, looking extremely unsure of himself.
Finally, all attention turned to the last member of the group, the girl standing directly across from him on the ice. She was a little tall and chubby in an adorable way. Her blond curls stood up in an uncoordinated mess all over her head. She had attempted to tame the mess of curls with a purple headband, but all she had succeeded in doing was pushing them from her eyes. Vivid blue-grey eyes stared nervously up at him from behind clunky purple glasses that seemed to perpetually be slipping down her nose. When she finally spoke up, her pale cheeks were cherry red and her voice had a pronounced nasal quality to it. "T-Tanya Vanderflock."
Staring at that group photo, Duke felt a strange warmth in his chest and his muscles relaxed in a way that they hadn't since the night of the crash. He felt like he belonged here, like he was finally home staring at the grinning faces of his childhood friends... of his family. A family that he had been subconsciously chasing for 12 years. The Brotherhood had been a cheap imitation at best and it was the closest he had ever gotten to the feeling that this simple picture could evoke in him. Almost unconsciously, his hand reached towards the picture, long elegant fingers almost brushing the cold glass. Duke was yanked from his nostalgia by an electric jolt of pain from his eye as his vision flickered behind his eye patch, almost as if it was reminding him of everything that he had lost.
He cursed the faulty tech and wished for the millionth time that he had the money to get it fixed. That was the funny thing about making your fortune illegally, once you got caught, the money stream all but dries up. He blinked a couple of times in an effort to reset the eye. Duke winced as one last fizz of black and white sent a little shock through his temple and awoke his recurring headache. Finally, his vision reset, and once more Duke found himself looking at the world in full color.
Duke dragged himself away from the photo wall and navigated the halls like an old pro, following the path of colorful carpet littered with random rainbow designs that hadn't been changed since the eighties. It led him towards the echoing sounds of excited children and skates on ice until he came to the entrance to the arena. As soon as he walked out into the arena a familiar chill nipped at his nose and settled into his bones in a way that simultaneously made him shiver with discomfort and smile with happiness. He took a deep breath and inhaled the odd combination of ozone, the slight must of old sweat from the locker rooms, and the lingering scent of old fried food that tantalized his empty stomach.
Duke weaved his way through the relatively empty seats until he found one close enough to the ice where he could settle in and see the practice. It looked like a scene of pure chaos as young children slipped and slid precariously around on their ice skates like foals learning to walk. Some seemed to master the slow wobble that allowed them to move a couple of inches per minute while others spent most of their time flat on their backsides. The cacophony of the little scene was a jarring mix of screams of delight and fear, the occasional sob after one too many falls, and chatter that lost its meaning in the din.
Duke chuckled to himself and couldn't help the grin that spread across his rugged face. Among the throng of children were a couple of haggard-looking volunteers who were bogged down by clinging children. They were hopelessly outnumbered and Duke felt a bit of sympathy for them. Mostly he was relieved that he wasn't doing their job.
His gaze continued to wander over the ice until he caught sight of one lone boy clinging to the wall on the far side of the rink like it was his lifeline. He almost glanced over him, but he was hit by a small spike of nostalgia and a strange familiarity that he couldn't quite place. When the boy didn't move for another few minutes Duke gave into his odd impulse to help. Casually he waltzed over to the skate rental desk and made quick work of the poor teenager running the desk, slickly getting a free pair of skates in his size. He slipped the skates on like he had been doing it every day for his whole life and walked confidently towards the ice.
Just his impeccable luck, someone had draped a volunteer vest over the wall by the entrance and Duke snatched the piece of cloth so fast that it was almost like it teleported into his hands. He shrugged awkwardly into the oversized orange vest and stepped out onto the ice.
Though his movements were smooth and casual, Duke felt like his every nerve was alight. He had always been most at home on the ice, as if that was where he belonged. From a very young age, he would escape the terror of his home in favor of the cold embrace of the Pond. Skate rentals were free for children and he took full advantage, oftentimes spending hours on end just skating around. He was at peace on the ice, knew who he was on the ice.
He took a few seconds to calm his jangled nerves and he slipped back into his familiar rhythm of sliding across the ice like a dancer. Everything melted away for those few minutes that it took to reach the boy. The boy had heard his approach and as Duke stopped next to him he regarded him with a curious gaze. For a second Duke thought his eye was glitching as he stared back at the kid's blue eyes. With a shake of his head, Duke realized that he wasn't seeing things, that the eyes that had haunted his memories were staring up at him, except they weren't Tanya's. They belonged to this little boy. The more he looked down at them, the more Duke saw the little flecks of vivid green that differentiated the boy's eyes from his long-lost friend's. He chalked it up to the nostalgia of the Pond and let the memory fade back into the back of his mind.
The boy was wearing a pair of square blue glasses that were slightly crooked on his round little baby face. His rosy cheeks were dusted with a light smattering of freckles and his tiny mouth gaped slightly to reveal a gap in his baby teeth where one of his bottom teeth had once been. His unruly blonde hair was shoved under a blue and red beanie which was smushed underneath a child safety helmet worn from years of use by generations of Isboro children. He was wearing a slightly faded and well-loved sweater depicting various colorful dinosaurs dressed like astronauts as they floated in the space fabric. His jeans were also worn and dusted with enough ice crystals to make his knee caps soaked through. He had obviously fallen quite a few times already that morning.
The kid reminded him painfully of Tanya but he pushed the thought away in favor of crouching down skillfully on his skates so that he was eye-level with the young boy. The boy's eyes widened at the maneuver but his white-knuckle grip on the wall remained unloosened.
"Hey, there kid. Whatcha doin'?" Duke asked casually with what he hoped was a winning smile. Kids' reactions to his appearance were a mixed bag of sorts. Some were scared and others were completely unfazed
The boy blinked a little in surprise before turning his gaze down at the ice, smile bashful and tentative.
"Learning to sk-skate." He whispered so low that Duke almost missed it. But he had cracked enough safes to know when to listen for the smallest of sounds.
"Sounds good. But you'll never get anywhere clinging to the wall like that." Duke reasoned, turning the kid's focus away from the ice and up to his safety line.
"I'm scared to fall again." The kid whimpered and Duke's heart broke a little bit at the statement from an innocent little kid.
"Yeah, falling is pretty scary." Duke agreed and the boy shook his head in vehement agreement, "But it's a big part of learning kiddo. You'll never figure it out if you stay on the sidelines. You gotta pick yourself back up and keep trying."
Duke waited a moment of silence while the kid mulled over his words and slowly, ever so slowly, loosened his grip on the wall. His tired legs shook a little bit but he remained upright with only the slightest of support from the wall.
Duke watched, impressed by the boys' tenacity. Before he could fully let go the boy turned to him and held out his tiny mitten-covered hand. Duke was hesitant to take it, suddenly remembering that he was an ex-con, one that didn't deserve such naive trust. His decision was made for him as the boy launched himself off of the wall and towards Duke.
Duke scrambled to catch the boy and once he was sure that the kid was once again mildly steady he noticed that the little rascal now had his hand clasped in a death grip. He glanced at his hand and then the victorious smile that the boy was giving him. He felt a warmth in his heart that made a big smile appear on his face and he tightened his grip slightly on the tiny hand in his grasp.
"Good job kid. Now let's ROCK!"