Hometown Heart (Whistleport Hockey #3)

12. Jack

Chapter twelve

Jack

B y the time I arrived, the arena was already filling up. I found my usual seat in the stands. Cody and his team warmed up on the ice. The crisp slap of pucks hitting sticks, goals, and the board echoed around us.

Most of the faces were familiar by now. A majority were parents like me. Brooks was lounging in the next row down from me, his arms crossed over his chest.

On the other side of the rink, Dottie chatted with Vi and Ruthie near the snack bar. They occasionally glanced at me before leaning in closer to engage in more conversation.

I sighed. No wonder gossip traveled so fast in Whistleport.

Brooks stretched out and leaned back, looking up at me. "So, how's the kid today?"

"He's confident. That's for sure, but he might be leaning a little on the cocky side."

Brooks chuckled. "Not necessarily a bad thing. It gives him a leg up in the psychological game with the other team.

The bleachers groaned beneath the weight of more bodies as new arrivals filled in the empty spaces. The buttery aroma of popcorn purchased from the concession stand drifted past me. Looking around, I spotted many thermoses full of coffee, fellow dads wearing weathered team caps, and moms prepping their scorebooks for the game.

Camden was a tough opponent. They'd ruled the junior league for three seasons in a row, and their coach—a former college player—ran drills with military precision.

The advantage Whistleport had? We had heart. And Cody. He was still new enough that other teams weren't quite sure how to defend against him.

I watched Cody join his teammates as they gathered around Rory. He jostled Tyler with an elbow and then leaned in close, listening carefully to the coach's words.

My son was ten and going on twenty-five when it came to hockey. His fierce concentration reminded me of myself when I was his age.

The biggest surprise of the day happened when Silas unexpectedly slid into the seat beside me. He handed over a Tidal Ground coffee without a word. He'd shown up at a few junior practices, but Brooks told me not to expect him at the games. He needed to prep for a rush after the game.

I turned my head. "Didn't expect to see you here."

He shrugged. "I'm a man of endless surprises."

That was true, and I shouldn't have been surprised to see him at the game. He knew a lot about hockey like every other adult male in Whistleport. What surprised me the most was that he didn't tell me ahead of time.

Brooks chuckled softly in front of us. "Thought you had a rush to prep for, Brewster. Those Camden folk are gonna need a scone or two."

Silas sipped his coffee. "Sarah's got it under control."

The coffee he'd brought was top-notch, as always. He'd added an extra shot of espresso. Surprisingly, I felt like I needed it as the caffeine raced to my toes.

Silas ran his thumb along the rim of his cup. It was an unconscious gesture that usually meant he was thinking hard about something. His knee brushed mine as he settled into his seat, leaning against the bleacher behind him.

"And Sarah didn't mind you leaving her on her own?"

"She threatened to mutiny if I didn't take a break." Silas continued to stare at the ice as he spoke. He watched Cody closely. "She said I was hovering too much, and then she complained about me being too fussy about the scone placement."

"Heaven forbid they be misaligned."

"Make fun all you want, but presentation is important." He smiled. "I also heard Camden's goalie has a weak glove side. I needed to see that firsthand when we have such a strong shooter in Cody."

I looked around and spotted a few people glancing our way. Some were staring. They tried to be subtle, but they weren't nuanced enough.

Dottie's group had already gotten an eyeful.

Even some of the dads, guys I'd shared beers with, looked at Silas briefly and then away.

I did my best to tell myself it didn't matter.

Whistleport didn't whisper. They spoke openly. Tyler's mom, Shannon, kept glancing in our direction. Two rows down, Mr. Peterson, owner of the hardware store, tilted his head toward his wife while keeping an eye on me. The awareness of Silas sitting with his leg tucked up against mine spread through the crowd.

I didn't worry that people would disapprove. Brooks and Rory proved every day that Whistleport was an accepting community. What I saw was different. It was a collective curiosity machine coming to life, gathering information to share as soon as the game ended.

Silas gestured toward Dottie, Vi, and Ruthie. "I give it seven minutes until they start swarming around us with questions."

"That long?

"Dottie needs to finish her cocoa first."

I smiled despite feeling a little discomfort. The stakes were small. Silas's warm presence beside me made it all bearable.c

The puck dropped to start the game, and I instantly zeroed in on the action and Cody.

He had a good first shift—fast and aggressive while sticking close to his linemate Tyler. I turned to explain something to Silas, and he was already launching into a game analysis.

"Rory's got them playing tight on the blue line. That's a good read—Camden's got speed. Still, they get flustered when you take away their passing lanes."

I glanced at him. "Are you scouting or watching the game?"

"Can't it be both?"

Brooks grinned. "Damn. You do pay attention,"

"Just wait until I start heckling the refs."

the longer I sat next to Silas, the less I cared about the side-eyes from Whistleport's peanut gallery.

The first period included plenty of the controlled chaos that defined junior hockey. We would see bursts of impressive skill. Next, there are plenty of moments of unintentional comedy. Camden's star forward was a skinny kid with surprising speed. He tried to split our defense, but Rory came prepared. He had our defensemen maintain their positions, forcing Camden to attempt increasingly desperate shots from poor angles.

"There it is." Silas watched as Tyler intercepted a cross-ice pass. "You can read Camden's center like a book. You know what's coming ten strides ahead."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have you been watching game tapes?"

"Please. I've served these Camden coaches coffee every away game for three seasons. They talk strategy over my pour-overs like I'm not even there. It's amazing what people will say in front of the guy making their drinks. They have no idea that I'm on a direct line to Rory."

The buzzer signaled the end of the first period, and the game was scoreless. Players shuffled toward their benches, some collapsing on the boards from exhaustion. Cody remained standing, listening intently to whatever Rory was telling them, occasionally nodding with fierce determination.

Silas made a wise observation. "He's good at taking direction. A lot of kids have trouble processing feedback during a game."'

"The coaches had to deal with a mess in New York," I admitted. "Too many parents pushed their agendas."

"And here?"

I watched Rory crouch down to eye level with the team, his hands sketching plays in the air that the kids followed with rapt attention.

"Here it feels like they're learning the game, not just a win-at-any-cost attitude."

Brooks turned around. "Don't let Rory hear you say that. He's still mad about losing to Camden in the holiday tournament."

Silas explained further. "Some rivalries run deep. Camden's coach used to date Rory's sister. Ended badly."

Brooks winked. "Hockey and heartbreak are small-town Maine specialties."

The second-period whistle blew, and we settled back in, my shoulders touching Silas's, with commentary flowing easily between us. The sidelong glances from around the arena were now merely background noise.

We entered the third period with a tie game.

Cody picked off a pass at the blue line and took off down the ice. It was a brilliant breakaway.

The crowd leaned forward on the edges of their seats. So did Silas. I held my breath.

Cody faked a shot, dragging the puck backhand, and then he buried it top shelf. Goal! The arena exploded in cheers.

Before I could react, Silas was already on his feet, shouting. "That was one hell of a move!" A few people turned to look at Silas.

He caught himself, cleared his throat, and sat back down.

The goal horn still echoed through the arena as Cody circled back to the bench, receiving high-fives and helmet taps from his teammates. His face shone with pure joy through the cage of his helmet. It was an expression of unfiltered triumph.

It took me a while to process what I'd just witnessed. My son, who months ago had been struggling to find his place on an overly competitive New York team, had just executed a move worthy of highlight reels. It all happened so naturally that it seemed impossible this was the same kid who used to overthink every play.

"Did you teach him that move?" Silas asked.

"No. That was all him."

The arena vibrated with energy for the remaining minutes of the game. Camden pressed hard, pulling their goalie for an extra attacker in the final minute, but Whistleport's defense held. When the final buzzer sounded, we'd won a 2-1 victory—our first against Camden in almost two years.

The team piled into center ice, celebrating as a tangle of small bodies wearing oversized equipment. Rory stood by the boards, wearing a triumphant smile.

Silas clapped me on the shoulder. "Your boy's got a flair for the dramatic. Saved that move for the perfect moment."

A wave of parental pride washed over me, followed closely by happiness at the fact that Silas was there to witness Cody's goal. He'd seen it himself and wouldn't have to depend on my ability to describe it.

Parents around us began to gather their things while a buzz of excited chatter filled the stands. Some nodded toward me, sharing the joy of a hometown victory. At that moment, I was truly a part of Whistleport.

A few minutes later, the crowd thinned out, and Cody headed to the locker room. Silas walked to the parking lot at my side.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

I hesitated, then sighed. "People talk."

"Let them.

I glanced at him. "Are you always this good at not giving a damn?"

"Only about the things that don't matter." He grinned at me.

The parking lot turned into an improvised social gathering. Parents stood and lingered beside their idling cars with travel mugs in hand, reliving some of the highlights of the game. A hint of spring was in the air near the end of February while stubborn patches of snow still clung to the edges of the lot.

Silas and I paused near my SUV, standing just far enough apart for plausible deniability. It was close enough for me to feel our connection.

Dottie waved at us from across the parking lot. "You've lived with this your whole life, being under the Whistleport microscope."

"I'm not so sure about that." Silas shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I perfected the art of being visible without being seen. I'm the reliable coffee guy, keeper of everyone's morning routines, and I'm a notebook of orders, not personal lives." He paused. "That's different."

"Different, how?"

"Being seen with you means being seen. Really seen." His voice dropped lower. "This is new territory for me, too."

I absorbed that, understanding that for all his easy confidence, Silas was navigating unfamiliar waters along with me.

"Dad! Dad!" Cody's voice carried across the parking lot. He emerged from the arena doors at full sprint, hockey bag bouncing awkwardly against his legs, still wearing his post-game flush of excitement.

"Did you see that?!" Cody exclaimed as he drew closer.

"Made it look easy," I laughed, ruffling his hair.

"Did you see?" Cody beamed at Silas.

"Indeed I did."

Cody gasped dramatically. "It was flawless!"

I stood there, watching Cody glow in the light of his victory.

"Coach Rory said it was just like that move Ziggy Knickerbocker used in the playoffs last year! Well, almost like it. Mine was better because the goalie wasn't expecting it and—" Cody paused to breathe. "Silas, are you coming over? Dad made chili last night and there's tons left."

The invitation hung in the air between us. Silas looked at me, a question in his eyes.

"Should be enough for three," I confirmed, sounding casual while my pulse picked up speed.

Shannon walked past with Tyler, offering congratulations on Cody's goal. Her gaze flickered between Silas and me, a quick assessment that ended with a warm smile.

"Great game," she said, directing it to all of us collectively. "We'll see you boys at practice Tuesday?"

The inclusion—so natural, so matter-of-fact—lingered after she'd gone.

"So... chili?" Silas asked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

On the way home, Cody talked a mile a minute. I let him, half-listening, while my thoughts drifted. To Silas.

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

"—and then Tyler said I should've celebrated more, but I was too surprised it worked! Coach Rory has us practice that move all the time, but usually the defender pokes the puck away before I can—Dad, are you listening?"

"Goal of the century, bud. I heard you." I caught a doubtful expression in the rearview mirror.

"I think Silas was impressed," Cody continued, struggling to remove his team jacket while remaining buckled in. "He never comes to games. Tyler's dad said so."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah! He said Silas sometimes watches the high school tournaments but never the kids' games." Cody leaned forward between the seats. "Do you think he came to see me play? Or was it because you guys are friends now?"

The innocent question contained layers of meaning that Cody couldn't possibly understand. I navigated around the truth, finding something honest enough to satisfy him.

"Both, probably. He's getting to know us."

Cody seemed satisfied with my answer and settled back into his seat. "That's good."

The road curved along the harbor, where winter-bare trees framed the gray-blue water. A few hardy lobster boats dotted the bay, their captains taking advantage of the mild weather. This view had become familiar over the past months—the way the peninsula jutted into the water and how the lighthouse stood sentinel on the point. Places that had been only names on a map were now landmarks in our daily lives.

Silas would be following a few minutes behind us, stopping at Tidal Grounds first to check on Sarah and grab a container of the cookies he'd mentioned during the third period.

When we'd first arrived in Whistleport, I'd focused solely on creating stability for Cody. I'd envisioned a quiet life centered around hockey practices and school projects, with the rest of the town serving as a backdrop. I hadn't counted on becoming part of the community's fabric so quickly. Hadn't anticipated Sunday pickup games and invitations to town meetings. Certainly hadn't expected Silas Brewster to walk into our lives with his perfect coffee and quiet understanding.

"Dad?" Cody's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Do you think we could stay here? Like, forever?"

"You really like it that much?"

"I have friends here. Real ones. Coach Rory says I'm getting better every practice, and Tyler's mom always sends extra food, and Silas remembers exactly how I like my hot chocolate." He paused. "And you smile more here."

Had I been so transparent? Or was Cody just more perceptive than I'd given him credit for?

"I'm still figuring things out," I admitted, turning onto our street. "But Whistleport feels right for now."

That was an understatement. The town had worked its way under my skin in ways I didn't anticipate. The rhythms of harbor life, the interconnected web of relationships, and even the nosy attention of people like Dottie Perkins formed a community that held us, sometimes too tightly, but with genuine care.

As I pulled into our driveway, I saw Silas's truck already parked along the curb. He sat inside, apparently finishing a phone call, his free hand gesturing as he spoke. Seeing him outside our home waiting to join us was like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Cody was already unbuckling, eager to recount his goal to Silas for the fourth time. I watched him bounce in his seat, impatient for the next part of our day to begin.

I took a breath and decided to stop overthinking everything and enjoy the moment.