Chapter 11 Ryan
Connor walked beside me, his long legs moving fast as he rattled off facts about the Aztecs. I was only catching every other word, but his enthusiasm was infectious.
“They used to play this ball game,” he said, his voice rising with excitement. “And the court was huge! But guess what? Sometimes the losers got sacrificed to the gods!”
“Sacrificed, huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And you think hockey’s intense.”
Connor laughed, shaking his head like I was the one missing out on important historical context. “No, no, it was an honour. That’s why they did it–to please the gods!”
I hummed in response, pretending to process that information, when Connor suddenly stopped in his tracks.
“Gingerbread houses!” he exclaimed, pointing to a nearby tent where clusters of kids and adults were gathered around tables, icing and candy spread out in colourful chaos. Without waiting for me, he bolted toward the competition area.
“Hold up!” I called, jogging to keep up.
Watching him weave through the crowd, all energy and curiosity, I felt my thoughts slip elsewhere.
Harper.
She’d been a whirlwind this morning, her cheeks flushed from the cold as she worked tirelessly to set up the booth.
Her knit hat kept sliding off her head, and she kept tucking stray strands of her hair behind her ears, clearly annoyed by it.
Still, she glowed–eyes bright with determination, hands steady and quick as she adjusted garland and organized trays of baked goods.
She looked… happy. Excited, even. Like this event meant something to her, and she wanted it to be perfect.
That spark–it caught me off guard. She wasn’t just going through the motions; she was invested.
And it hit me how long it had been since I felt that way about anything.
My first Winterfest was just last year. Shane had dragged me here, determined to get me out of the funk I’d been in for months. I hadn’t wanted to come, didn’t want to pretend to enjoy myself when I was barely holding it together.
I’d been so damn low back then–barely sleeping, constantly angry or numb. Depression was a weight I couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I tried.
This town had a way of working on you, of sneaking under your skin.
The laughter, the sense of community, the sheer absurdity of some of the games and competitions.
By the end of the night, I’d felt… lighter.
Like a tiny crack had opened up in that wall I’d built around myself.
That crack seemed to be widening a little more each day, especially since Harper showed up in town.
Shane had been relentless after that, making sure I didn’t slip back into isolation. And slowly, with the help of him, the people in this town, and this place in general, I started to find my footing again.
“Ryan, look!” Connor’s voice jolted me back to the present.
He was at the gingerbread table, waving me over like he’d just discovered buried treasure. I shook off the memories, forcing myself to focus on him.
“Alright, buddy,” I said, smiling as I walked over. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Because today wasn’t about the past. It was about this kid and his boundless enthusiasm, about Harper and her radiant determination.
And maybe, it was about letting myself enjoy it, too.
Connor leaned forward, carefully sticking a gumdrop onto the roof of the gingerbread house like it was a life or death operation. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and I bit back a smile. The kid was into it.
“This has to be perfect,” Connor declared, glancing at me like I was supposed to take notes. “We’re not just making any gingerbread house. Ours is going to be the best one here.”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I squeezed some icing onto a wall piece. “The best, huh? What happens if someone's house is better?”
Connor shot me a look like I’d just suggested the Earth was flat. “No one’s house will be better,” he said firmly. “We’re going to crush them.”
The sheer seriousness of his tone had me laughing under my breath. The kid reminded me so much of myself when I was younger–driven, competitive, determined to be the best at everything.
“Alright, alright,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “Crushing it is.”
Connor was laser-focused on the gingerbread house we’d been working on for the past fifteen minutes–adding more gumdrops than architectural logic would allow. The thing leaned slightly to the left, but he looked so damn proud, I wasn’t about to point it out.
Around us, the holiday tent was alive with chatter and chaos.
Laughter bounced off the canvas walls, the smell of cinnamon and sugar thick in the air.
Somewhere nearby, a band was playing an acoustic version of “Let it Snow,” and the kids were shrieking with delight from the direction of the snow maze.
I pulled out my phone, thumbed out a quick text to Harper.
Hey, headed over to the snowball toss next. All good here.
I hesitated a second, then added:
He’s crushing the gingerbread game.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket just as a familiar voice cut through the cold air.
“Ryan freakin’ Barzal, building gingerbread houses. Now this I gotta see.”
I glanced up to see Shane strolling toward us like he owned the damn place, a smug grin on his face and snowflakes dusting the shoulders of his black coat.
“Hey, Coach Shane,” Connor said, beaming. “Look at our house! It’s the best one here.”
Shane crouched down to inspect it, nodding thoughtfully. “You know, Connor, I think you might be right. This thing is a masterpiece.”
Connor beamed even brighter, and I couldn’t help but feel a little proud myself.
Shane straightened up, turning his attention to me, his grin turning sly. “So what’s the deal here? Babysitting duty for Harper?”
I rolled my eyes, smirking. “Just helping out. Trying to be a good friend.”
“Uh-huh,” Shane said, crossing his arms and giving me a look that said he didn’t buy it for a second.
Before I could answer, Connor tugged my sleeve. “Can we go to the snowball toss now? Liam said there’s a target shaped like a reindeer’s butt and you get points if you hit it!”
I laughed. “Well, now I have to see that.”
Connor took off ahead of us, boots kicking up little sprays of snow, his red jacket practically glowing under the string lights. I started after him, and Shane fell in step beside me.
“So. Gingerbread houses. Holiday games. Next thing I know, you’ll be knitting Connor a scarf and asking Harper to build a snowman family.”
I gave him a dry look. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
He laughed. “Relax. You’re safe. For now.”
We reached the snowball toss, where piles of snowballs were already stacked like ammo behind small barricades. Kids lined up, taking aim at cartoonish targets–penguins, elves, snowmen–and yes, one very prominent reindeer butt.
Shane crouched in the snow, towering even while kneeling, giving Connor tips like they were training for the damn Snowball Olympics.
“Keep your elbow up–yeah, like that. Feet shoulder-width apart. Aim low. You’re going for the reindeer’s butt. Focus.”
Connor nodded, squinted, and let the snowball fly.
Direct hit.
Shane whooped. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Connor spun toward me, grinning. “Did you see that?!”
“Sure did,” I said, ruffling his hat. “You’ve got an arm on you. Remind me never to piss you off.”
He beamed, already scooping another snowball.
I didn’t even hear her footsteps, just felt something shift, that subtle tug in the air that always seemed to come with her.
Harper was walking toward us, bundled in her coat and scarf, a smile tugging at her lips. It hit me hard, how natural she looked here, like she belonged, like this whole place had been waiting for her to arrive.
“Hey,” I called, straightening as she got closer. “We were just about to dominate the snowball toss. Connor’s been training hard.”
She laughed softly, her eyes warm as she joined us. “I can see that.”
“Mom!” Connor turned, practically bouncing in place. “Look what Coach Shane taught me!”
He hurled a snowball at the target and clipped the edge, his grin widening like he’d just nailed a slapshot in overtime.
“Nice shot!” she said, clapping as she stepped up beside me.
“Not bad, huh?” Shane rose from his crouch, brushing snow off his gloves. “Kid’s got a good arm. Looks like hockey’s not the only thing he’s good at.”
Connor beamed under the praise, and I didn’t miss the way Harper’s whole expression softened when she looked at him.
I leaned in a little closer. “Taking a break? Or did Benny finally kick you out of the booth?”
Before she could respond, Shane elbowed me. “So, Harper, who do you think’s got the better aim–me or this guy?”
She arched a brow, pretending to weigh the options. “Hard to say. I haven’t actually seen either of you throw yet.”
“Let’s fix that,” Shane declared, already scooping up a snowball and tossing it to me.
I caught it without thinking, flashing her a smirk. “You’re about to be very impressed.”
We took turns tossing at the target, laughing as snowballs went flying–some hits, some wild misses. Shane nailed one dead center and threw his arms up like he’d just won the Stanley Cup. I shook my head, stepping to the line with mock-serious focus, lining up my shot.
Just as I released it, a familiar voice rang out behind us.
“Is this what you two call coaching the youth of today?”
I turned to see Nina approaching with Liam in tow, her arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Harper smiled wide at the sight of her, and something twisted in my chest at the ease between them.
Liam didn’t hesitate. He bolted toward the growing stash of snowballs, dove straight in like a prize pit, and started arming himself.
“We call it leadership development,” Shane said, totally unfazed. “Teacher perseverance, focus, and how to humiliate your opponent with style.”
“Uh-huh,” Nina shot back, eyes narrowed. “Nothing screams ‘good role model’ like two grown-ass men acting like twelve-year-olds.”