The two snowmachines screamed, a raw, mechanical roar that tore through the frozen silence of the Eureka basin. The two of them loving the power. It was just right. The snow wasn't too deep. They day was awesome.

They stopped on a high ridge, the engines ticking as they cooled. Ben yanked off his helmet, his breath pluming. “Man this thing is running great!”

Ryan just nodded, pulling off his own helmet. The cold air bit his cheeks, clean and sharp. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers stiff inside his gloves. He framed the shot: Ben against the endless white, the mountains purple in the distance, the twin tracks they’d carved snaking through the valley below. He took the picture. Then another. The vastness refused to be captured.

They spent hours like that, chasing open meadows and weaving through ghostly stands of black spruce. Ryan kept taking pictures. A ptarmigan, still white against the snow. The sun glinting off Ben’s visor. The shadow of their machines, stretched long and lean across a field. It was a record of motion, of a day not spent inside his own head.

Back at the truck, while loading their machines onto the trailer, the quiet felt different. Not empty, but full of the day’s echo. Ben tightened the last strap and leaned against the tailgate, pulling a granola bar from his pocket. He took a bite, studying Ryan.

“So,” Ben said, his voice casual but his eyes direct. “What’s going on with you and Riley Jones?”

Ryan froze, one hand on the trailer latch. The question landed not like a tease, but like a sober punch. He’d been waiting for it from Ben, He hadn't delivered it with a smirk. Ben’s tone was just curious.

“Nothing’s going on,” Ryan said, the lie automatic. He turned back to the latch, making a show of checking it.

“Dude.” Ben laughed, a short, disbelieving sound. “You’ve had lunch with her, like, every day for like a week now, and you get this weird look on your face when someone says her name. You even took on Toby Boyd for her.”

Ryan straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets. The cold was seeping in now that they were still. “We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Ben said, not pushing. He crumpled his wrapper. “She’s cool. And, I mean, she’s Riley Jones. She could have anyone. But she’s always with you.”

That last observation hung in the air. Ryan stared at the snow packed under the truck’s tires, hard and dirty. He thought of her hand over his at the lodge. The text that had let him sleep. The expectant look on her face when she asked him for honest answers to life questiond.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Ryan said, the words quiet but clear in the still air.

Ben was silent for a moment. “With your machine? Cause you were tearing it up today.”

“No.” Ryan looked up, meeting his friend’s gaze. “With her.”

“Ah.” Ben nodded, like this made perfect sense. He climbed into the passenger seat, leaving the door open. Ryan walked around and got in behind the wheel, the truck cab holding the day’s last warmth.

“You like her, right?” Ben asked, buckling his seatbelt.

“Yeah.”

“And she likes you. Obviously.” Ben stated it as fact, not conjecture. “So what’s the problem?”

Ryan started the truck, the V8 rumbling to life. He gripped the wheel. “The problem is I’ll mess it up. I don’t know the rules. I say the wrong thing. Or I don’t say anything, and that’s wrong, too.” He paused. “And she’s leaving.”

The last part came out softer than he intended. Ben heard it. He was quiet for a long minute as Ryan pulled onto the gravel road, heading back toward town.

“My mom says the only way to really mess up is to not try,” Ben said, staring out the window at the passing trees. “She says that’s what regret is. It’s not for the things you did. It’s for the things you were too scared to do.”

Ryan drove, the words settling into the quiet of the cab. They felt true, and heavy.

“You should ask her to prom,” Ben said, as if it were the simplest conclusion in the world.

Ryan’s throat tightened. The terror was still there, a cold knot in his stomach. But under it, now, was a new current. The memory of speed, of freedom, of a horizon he’d raced toward all afternoon. He didn’t answer Ben. He just drove, the pictures on his phone a silent testament to a day he hadn’t spent hiding, and the unasked question waiting for him back in town now felt less like a wall and more like a ridge he needed to climb.

“How do you even ask someone to prom?” Ryan said, the words out before he could stop them. The truck’s headlights cut a weak path through the gathering dusk.

Ben shifted in his seat, turning to face him. “You just ask. ‘Hey, Riley, you wanna go to prom with me?’”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

Ryan focused on the road. “Because nothing is. There’s a whole… procedure. You get a poster. Or flowers. You make it a thing. People post it.”

“Says who?” Ben’s voice was flat. “Society…. dude, Chase McAllister asked Jessica Lyman by tying a note to his dog’s collar. The dog peed on her porch. She still said yes.”

A short, surprised laugh escaped Ryan. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.

“You’re overthinking it,” Ben said, settling back. “You always do. You’re the only guy I know who researches how to have a conversation.”

The truth of it stung, but it was honest. Ryan coudn’t deny it.

“What if she says no?” Ryan asked, quieter.

“Then you know,” Ben shrugged. “And we go have have some fun that night instead. But she’s not gonna say no.”

They drove in silence for a mile, the forest a dark wall on either side. Ryan’s mind, usually a torrent of variables and historical precedents, was quiet for once. He was just feeling the rumble of the truck, the warmth of the cab, the simple presence of a friend who didn’t think his fears were stupid.

“My dad,” Ryan started, then stopped. He hadn’t planned to say it. “He would’ve known.”

Ben didn’t offer empty sympathy. He just listened, a solid shadow in the passenger seat.

Then he broke the silence. “He knew engines. He knew how to read weather, and he knew women. He convinced you mom to marry him didn't he?” Ryan smiled at that

The lights of town appeared ahead, a faint yellow smudge in the blue-black twilight. Ryan felt the weight of the day in his muscles, a pleasant ache from holding onto the machine, from laughing until his chest hurt.

Ryan pulled into Ben’s driveway, the headlights cutting across the packed snow and illuminating the dark shape of the Delany’s garage.

“I'll get the straps.” Ben said, already hopping out into the brittle cold.

They worked in practiced silence. Ryan lowered the ramp on the trailer while Ben fired up the snowmachine’s engine, the sudden roar shattering the neighborhood quiet. He guided it down, the machine’s track biting into the icy driveway.

Ryan’s breath came in white plumes. The cold bit at his ears, a sharp contrast to the remembered thrill of speed, the blur of white trees.

Ben killed the engine. The silence that followed felt deeper, insulated by the snow.

“Thanks for the today,” Ben said, slapping Ryan’s shoulder. “And for not running us into that ravine.”

The porch light of Ben’s house was a yellow island. Ryan felt the day’s exhaustion settle into his bones, a good exhaustion, the kind that came from doing instead of thinking.

“So,” Ben said. The word hung in the air.

Ryan leaned against the cold fender of his truck, waiting. He knew that tone.

“You had fun today,” Ben stated. It wasn’t a question.

“It was a good run,” Ryan agreed.

“No, I mean you had *fun*. You weren’t just along for the ride. You were yelling. You took, like, eighty pictures of scenery and wildlife.”

Ryan looked away, toward the dark line of the woods behind Ben’s house. “It was a good day.”

Ben shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s because you’re not all wound up. For once.”

“I’m always wound up.”

“Yeah. But less. Since the thing with Riley Jones.”

Ryan didn’t have a deflection ready. The usual walls—the historical facts, the logical rebuttals—they just weren’t manned right now.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Ryan said. The honesty surprised him. It was just the truth, simple and plain.

Ben nodded, like this was the correct answer. “But you like it.”

Ryan thought of the text messages. The hot chocolate. Her hand over his. Bobby Jones’s voice, telling him a story about a father he thought he’d never known. The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the heavy coat he was wearing.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, his voice quiet. “I like it.”

“Good,” Ben said. He pushed off from the snowmachine. “That’s all I needed to know. Don’t screw it up by thinking about it too much, and ask her to prom you have plenty of time.”

Ben walked toward the yellow porch light, leaving Ryan alone with the truck and the trailer and the quiet, star-punched sky.

Ryan stood there for a long minute. The cold finally seeped through his coat. He looked at the trailer, with one of his most prized possessions, then back toward the dark road.

For the first time in two years, the quiet didn’t feel like an emptiness. It felt like a space waiting to be filled.

Ryan climbed into the truck. The engine turned over with a familiar grumble, and he pulled away from Ben’s house, the trailer wobbling behind him.

The heater whirred to life, pushing stale, warm air against his jeans. He drove the dark road toward home, the high beams cutting a tunnel through the towering spruce.

Ben’s words hung in the cab. *Don’t screw it up by thinking about it too much.* Thinking was all he did. It was his default state, his fortress.

Now the fortress felt different. The walls were the same, but the silence inside them had changed texture. It wasn’t the echoing quiet of his own house. It was the quiet of the lodge fireplace. The quiet of a text message thread that felt like a conversation.

He flipped on the radio. The worn-out preset for the classic country station hissed with static, then resolved into the opening chords of a song. Garth Brooks. “The River'

“Riley's favorite” he said to himself. He left his hand on the dial. He listened.

The lyrics washed over him in a way they had never done before. Lyrics about dreaming, and choosing to chase those dreams even when you’re scared. He thought of his father’s voice, not as a memory, but as Bobby Jones had described it: full of pride. He thought of Riley, who chased everything with a terrifying, graceful certainty.

He was chasing nothing. He was parked. A monument to loss.

The song ended. The DJ’s voice was a friendly murmur. Ryan turned into his driveway, the tires crunching on the frozen gravel. The house was a dark shape against the lighter dark of the sky.

He sat with the engine running, watching the exhaust plume white in the red glow of his taillights. He pulled out his phone. The screen was blinding in the dark cab.

His thumb hovered over Riley’s name. It was late. but she had returned messages at later times. Plus it was Saturday.

He typed anyway. Simple. Plain. “Got home from snowmachining.” He then picked ten pictures he took that day and sent them to her. Ending the text with “ These are some of the pictures I took today at Eureka.

He hit send before he could dissect it. The whoosh sound was final. He killed the engine and the lights, plunging himself into total darkness.

He was halfway to the front door when his phone buzzed in his coat pocket. A single, solid vibration.

He didn’t take it out until he was inside, leaning against the closed door in the pitch-black hallway. The screen lit up his face.

Her reply. “Thank you so much. I was worried. I’m glad you’re back safe.”

Then, a second message. “OMG. Those pictures are awesome, I want you to show me all of them Monday at lunch”

A simple “I will” is what he texted back.

He didn’t wait for a reply. He walked to his room, the floorboards creaking their familiar complaints. He didn’t turn on the TV. He didn’t open a history book. He just lay on his bed in the dark, thinking about the day, and Ben, and Riley.

Sunday morning arrived as a thin, gray light around his blinds and a chill in the room that made the blanket feel like a lead weight. Ryan woke to the buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He fumbled for it, the screen bright against the dim. A text from Riley. “Good morning. Want to do something today?”

He stared at the words. He could picture her, probably already dressed, energy in her movements even through text.

Then he thought of Dan. It had been weeks. Maybe months. A different kind of ache, one of neglect, settled in his chest. He typed back, his thumbs cold. “Can’t today. Told Dan I’d game.”

He sent it. The three dots appeared, then vanished. Her reply came quick. “Ok. Have fun :)

Ryan stared at the phone screen until it went dark, the chill in the room seeping into his bones. He pushed off the bed, the floorboards groaning, and picked up the landline phone from his desk, its cord coiled tight. He dialed Dan’s number from memory, the clicks loud in the quiet.

It rang twice before Dan’s voice, fuzzy with sleep, came through. “Brewster.”

“It’s Ryan. You gaming today?”

A rustle, a yawn. “Ahhh maan, I just work up but give me fifteen I can be on.” Dan’s tone shifted, waking up.

“Cool, see you then.” The line went dead

Ryan placed the receiver back in its cradle, the plastic cool under his thumb. He didn’t move for a minute, listening to the house settle. A different weight than the forest quiet from the day before. He powered on his laptop, the fan whirring to life, and sank into his chair. The glow of the monitor was a familiar comfort, a world where things made sense.

15 minutes later he was logged into World of Warcraft, his character standing in Orgrimmar. Dan’s voice crackled through the headset. “You’re early. Everything good?”

“Yeah.” Ryan manipulated his character, checking inventory. “Just wanted to play.”

“You never just want to play. You’re usually studying or something. This about Riley?”

Ryan’s fingers paused on the keyboard. On screen, his Tauren warrior stood motionless. “Why would it be about Riley?”

Dan laughed, a static-filled burst. “Because you never bail on her. And you’re gaming on a Sunday morning. Spill it.”

They started a quest, moving through the digital landscape. Ryan focused on the mechanics, the predictable enemy patterns. “She asked to hang out. I said I was gaming with you.”

“And that’s the truth. But why? You like her, right?”

“It’s not that.” Ryan’s character landed a critical hit. “We haven't done this in a while. Wanted to have some fun with you.”

“I understand that man, but you blow off the girl you’re into so you can please me? Logic fail, man.” Dan’s character healed Ryan’s automatically, a practiced rhythm. “You’re scared.”

The word hung in the air, mingling with the click of keys and the game’s epic soundtrack. Ryan didn’t deny it. He watched his health bar refill, green numbers ticking up. “Maybe.”

They played in silence for a while, completing objectives with efficient teamwork. The comfort of it, the unspoken understanding between their avatars, was a language Ryan knew better than any other.

Ryan’s character sheathed its sword. The game’s music swelled, but he barely heard it. “I was thinking of asking her to prom.”

On the other end of the line, Dan went quiet for a beat. Then, a low whistle. “Okay. That’s not scared. That’s nuclear.”

“I don’t know how,” Ryan said, the admission rushing out. “What do you even say?”

“You say, ‘Riley, you wanna go to prom with me?’” Dan’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “It’s not a code you crack, man. It’s a question.”

Ryan watched dust motes swirl in a sunbeam cutting through his bedroom window. “What if she says no?”

“Then you play Warcraft with me that night and we eat pizza. The world keeps spinning.” Dan’s character started doing a silly dance in place on Ryan’s screen. “But she won’t say no.”

Ryan couldn't believe Dan was giving him the same advise as Ben, and further not telling him as was crazy.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know she brings you chili. I know she looks for you in the hall, and I know that she was genuinely scared when you were sitting in Sawyers office” Dan stopped dancing. His tone shifted, lost its edge. “Look, the worst she can do is say no. The worst you can do is never ask. Which one feels heavier?”

Ryan didn’t answer. He knew the weight. He’d been carrying it for weeks.

They finished the quest in a companionable silence, the only sounds the digital clash of swords and Dan’s soft, off-key humming of a trance melody. When the reward screen popped up, Dan sighed. “Gotta go. Mom’s yelling about church.”

“On a Sunday? Weird.”

Dan laughed. “Tell me about it. Just ask her, O’Connor” Dan then logged out.

Ryan sat in the sudden quiet of his room. The computer fan whirred. His Tauren warrior stood alone in a virtual field. Just like he used to do, but now he didn't feel alone. Riley was healing him. Not with a medpack but with her kindness.

He texted Riley “Mission complete. No plans for the rest of the day”