The forest came alive all around me.

Under the heels of my shoes, the frost covering the ground crunched below me. Birds hiding high in their favorite trees woke and chirped as I passed by. The air all around me was cold—cold enough to sting my lungs as I breathed deeply and took in the fresh, crisp smell of the trees. Streams of light began to peek through the sparse tree leaves only ten minutes prior, while the darkness of the night slowly faded away.

I’d woken from my restless sleep before dawn. The outside world had still been close to pitch-black by the time I stepped down the staircase of the front deck, running shoes on my feet, sweatpants on, thick hoodie zipped up to my throat.

Danny’s father—Mallory—had been right. Banff was cold and Banff was beautiful. At least the forest encasing it was. As I followed some remade running trails through the woods, I thought the cold might’ve added a certain something special to the beauty. The whiteness of the frost along the slivers of grass and against the tree bark.

I’d never been one of those people who spent time appreciating nature. Born and raised in the city, the exposure I had to silence—true silence—was limited. But out there, in the early morning with nothing but critters and birds all around it, the world felt quiet.

The watch on my wrist beeped, indicating I’d been running for an hour. I made my way back to the house, unsurprised when there were no lights shining out through the living room windows. When I opened the front door, though, I could see a faint glow of light coming from the kitchen. I knew it wouldn’t be Danny—he wasn’t much of a morning person unless he had a specific reason to be up early.

When I rounded the corner to the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of Mallory’s back.

“Morning,” he said without turning. He stood in front of the stove, one of his huge hands on the handle of a frying pan. There was a wet shine to his hair like he’d just come from the shower. His jeans sat a little low on his hips and a light gray Henley stretched across his shoulders.

“Morning.” I pulled out one of the stools resting beneath the counter and took a seat.

Nothing in the kitchen should’ve been surprising, but it was. It was a big space with a small island in the center and two massive windows right over the sink. Wood cabinets, lightly colored countertops, and stainless steel appliances. Based on what I’d seen of the rest of the house, it made sense. But there was something special about it. Or maybe there was something special about everything now that it was beginning to soak in sunlight.

“You’re up early,” Mallory said.

I turned my gaze toward him. It took me a moment to reply. “I’m a morning person.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Ah, the telltale signs must’ve been showing on my face. He’d said it as though it was something he himself was familiar with, but it didn’t show on his face. There were a few fine lines at the corners of his eyes and his beard was a little fuller now than it had been when I’d seen him yesterday, but there weren’t shadows under his eyes or any rain clouds above his head.

I shrugged. “I like to get a run in first thing in the morning.”

“Danny tells me you want to go into law enforcement—become a sniper. Hoping to join the FBI?”

“Yep.”

“The running makes sense then. Had a buddy back when I was your age. He wanted to join the force. He was always up and running or lifting weights. He could also eat enough for a small family.”

He turned back toward the stove. I studied the muscles in his back through the thin material of his shirt.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

He tossed his head back and laughed. It was a thick, smoky laugh. It reminded me of peppercorn. “Think I’m already there, kid.”

“You were right—it’s beautiful out there.”

Mallory gave me a small smile over his shoulder. “So, are you really a good shot?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t any point in being modest. I was a good shot—I was a fantastic shot, just like my dad and grandfather. “My dad used to say there must’ve been hawk’s blood in our family.”

“Is that right?” Mallory took whatever he was cooking off the burner and began pulling plates out of a cupboard. “The name seems appropriate then.”

“My brother’s name is Bullseye.”

Mallory paused, then turned to glance at me. I raised my eyebrows. After a moment, he let out a booming rupture of laughter. “Funny.”

He walked over to where I was seated but remained standing across the counter from me. The plate he set down in front of me had a small stack of pancakes with a few sliced strawberries on top. Between us he set a smaller plate of bacon that smelled of sweet maple, and beside it rested a small jar of syrup.

I stared at the food.

Mallory took a bite off his plate, swallowed, and then pointed his fork at me. “Not hungry?”

“It’s been a while since anyone’s cooked something for me.” I picked up my fork and used its edge to cut into the stack.

“Yeah? No one special at home?”

“No. You?” I put the forkful of pancakes onto my tongue, relishing the sweetness of the sugar.

Mallory looked at me funny. “Nope.” It struck me then that I wasn’t just out talking with a friend. This was my best friend’s dad.

“This is good,” I told him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He reached out and snagged a crispy strip of bacon between his fingers. “Help yourself.”

We finished the rest of our breakfast in comfortable silence.

Off to my right was the dining room, and two of the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows with the curtains pulled back. Sunlight carefully pushed its way past the shadows still lingering.

When Danny came barreling into the kitchen, he brought with him all the sound in the universe. He flopped down next to me and yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head. “What’s on the menu, Chef?”

“Pancakes and bacon.” Mallory walked back to the stove and began pouring batter from a bowl onto the frying pan.

“You mean Archer’s actually eating something? Wow,” Danny said.

I smacked his arm. “I eat.”

“Barely.” His sharp eyes betrayed the easy smile on his face.

I shrugged.

Mallory said, “I’m heading into work today. I’ll pick up some groceries for dinner tomorrow after I close shop. And then for Thanksgiving, I’ll take the day off so I can cook.”

“I’ll help,” I offered.

Danny punched my shoulder. “Don’t let him help, Dad. He’s the worst cook. We’ll spend the night puking up our guts.”

“That’s all right,” Mallory replied. “You boys relax. Enjoy your time off.”

I hopped off the stool and rolled my shoulders. “I’m going to go shower.”

As I headed out of the room and up the staircase, I paused briefly to listen to their hushed voices. When I heard the unmistakable cadence of my name coming out of Danny’s mouth, I took the stairs two at a time.

---

The minutes and hours began to bleed into one another, passing slowly and quietly. It was the first time in years I’d felt something close to contentment. Close, but not quite. I attributed it to the cedar smell of the house. There was something about the long-gone smell of wood varnish that was calming to me. And the nights—God—the nights were darker than the hearts of twisted men. I’d never been somewhere so void of lights and noises and senses.

---

The next morning, I quietly slipped on my running shoes and trailed outside to jog. I left before anyone else was awake and when I could still hear Danny’s snores from the room adjacent my own. When I returned, Mallory was awake and cooking breakfast. We chatted casually, mostly about nothing at all. There were periods of time when we didn’t talk, though. We just… were.

I listened to the crackle of the oils and spices he flicked into the pan. I watched the movement of his hands as he cut potatoes and whisked eggs in a bright pink mixing bowl. And I watched the way sometimes he would lose his train of thought, place both his palms on the edge of the counter, and stare into the emptiness that seemed to have escaped from inside him—or from inside me.

Mallory left for work before Danny woke. But when Danny finally did awaken, he showed me the room that had been his when he was younger.

“Your tastes haven’t changed much,” I teased, staring up at the sports posters on the walls.

He chuckled. “Well, my mom wouldn’t let me put up the posters I really wanted. You know, the ones of almost-naked women in bikinis.”

Danny’s childhood room was large and packed from floor to ceiling with memories. The massive wooden shelving unit built against the sidewall held trophies with glistening gold and silver figurines bowling or holding a baseball bat or kicking a soccer ball.

I leaned in to take a closer look at the spelling bee ribbon hanging on the side of the unit and then turned to look at him over my shoulder. “No basketball trophies?”

“Very funny, Ace.”

“Why not? I mean, there are so many other sports trophies here,” I went on.

“Hey, you’re only a few inches taller than me, you know.”

When I laughed, Danny shoved me gently.

“Want to see something funny?” he asked.

“Sure.”

We sat side by side on the twin bed and looked down at a yearbook Danny held in his lap. He opened it and began scanning through faces, a smile parting his lips.

“Look,” he told me, pressing the pad of his finger against the page.

“Oh, no,” I said, beginning to laugh.

“Oh, yes. My mom gave me a bowl cut.”

“You never stood a chance. That’s why you turned out this way.”

“Pretty much. I had to learn to be funny so everyone else would forget I ever had this stupid haircut. Lucky for me, I grew into my incredibly good looks.”

We laughed and began looking through the rest of his old yearbooks and photo albums.

I learned that Danny hadn’t changed much over the years—not really. Some part of that seemed to fill a little hole in my heart. It was almost a relief knowing that someone could go through so much grief and yet still be the same person they were always meant to be.

The third afternoon, Danny and I drove into the city. He hadn’t told me where we were going and I hadn’t asked. We passed by small shops selling fudge, an all-year Christmas store with gold and red bobbles displayed through the front window, and families walking down the sidewalks holding each other’s hands.

Near the outskirts of town, Danny parked the rental car, sighed heavily, and then smiled at me. It was hard to define that smile of his. It was too kind and almost sad, but not the kind of sadness mine held. But there was something about it that had always struck me straight through my heart.

“Let’s go, Ace,” Danny said, opening the driver’s side door. “I want you to meet my mom.”

Danny’s mother was buried in the northeast corner of the cemetery. Her headstone was smooth and beautiful, well maintained but not new. There was a bouquet of flowers perched up next to it, their colorful petals covered in a sheen of frost and ice.

“Dad comes here all the time,” Danny told me by way of explanation.

The air was cold enough to see my own breath, but the sun hung high and bright in the cloudless, blue sky. We both had our jackets zipped up to our throats and our hands shoved deep into our pockets.

---

---

“Sorry,” I said stupidly, my gaze fixed on the beautifully scripted engraving on the stone. Funny how saying sorry was a knee-jerk reaction whenever someone near you was faced with loss. I’d heard it a 101 times myself, and not one of those times was it what I’d wanted to hear.

But Danny smiled at me and shifted, bumping his shoulder against my bicep. “It’s okay. I miss her like hell, but it’s okay.”

“Cancer’s a bitch.”

“That it is, Ace. That it is.”

Some people might’ve thought it would be hard for me to be in a graveyard. Others might’ve even thought it would be hard for me to go with my best friend to comfort him when he visited his dead mother—but it wasn’t. I found no personal horror in graveyards, but I found no peace in them either. My own parents hadn’t been buried. There had been a funeral for them in a graveyard, but I hadn’t seen the point. They weren’t there. Their bodies weren’t there. They were gone and no slab of stone would serve as a tangible symbol of their memories.

Danny closed his eyes and tilted his chin up toward the sky. “I was hoping there wouldn’t be flowers here.”

“Why?”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Because there are always flowers here.”

I paused briefly. “Sometimes it takes time.”

“Sometimes it takes something else.”

I couldn’t look at him then. Instead, I turned away and stared at the top of one of the mountains in the distance. “Well, if you ever figure out what that something else is, be sure to let me know.”

We walked back to the car in silence.