Chapter 19
Patti leaned over the counter, flipping through a clipboard thick with paper. “I’m telling you, the new vendor wants to charge almost double for coffee next month. Double, Ryan. I said, ‘What do you think this is, Rogers Arena?’”
I chuckled, leaning one elbow on the counter. “Yeah, I don’t think parents are gonna be thrilled about paying six bucks for something that tastes like it was brewed in a skate.”
“Exactly,” she said, tapping the clipboard. “And don’t even get me started on the muffin situation–”
I didn’t hear the rest. My gaze had shifted to the arena entrance, and everything else–the voices, the echoing hum of the Zamboni, the squeak of skates against the tile–faded into the background.
Connor stepped through the doors first, stick in one hand like it was an extension of him. Harper followed close behind, unwinding a pale scarf from her neck. She tugged off her knit hat, releasing loose waves of blonde hair that framed her face, her coat fitted and warm against the December chill.
My brows lifted. Yesterday, she’d told me the doctor hadn’t cleared Connor yet, and he’d been crushed about it. Now it looked like he was seconds from running straight onto the ice.
“... so I told him, if they want me to serve those stale things, they can pay me hazard pay,” Patti was still talking, but her words barely registered.
Harper had stopped to talk to Julie Mason, TK’s mom, her smile polite and warm. She bent slightly toward Connor, brushing her hand over the back of his jacket in that absent, protective way.
Shane appeared at my side, saving me from trying to fake another round of listening. “Pre-game in five, Barzal.”
I gave Patti a quick nod. “We’ll finish this later.”
As Shane and I walked toward the locker room, he smirked. “You looked about two seconds from handing over your life savings to get out of that conversation.”
“Maybe,” I said, as my eyes flicked once more toward the lobby.
The roar of the crowd swelled around me, the air thick with the kind of buzz you only got during a hometown tournament.
It felt like half of Brookhaven had crammed into the stands–parents, siblings, grandparents, the occasional curious neighbour who didn’t even have a kid on the team.
Every cheer echoed off the rafters, bouncing around the rink until it was impossible not to get caught up in the noise.
I was trying–really trying–to keep my eyes on the ice.
But every couple of minutes, they drifted to the section just in front of our bench.
Harper sat in her usual spot beside Nina, bundled in her coat with her scarf tucked neatly under her chin.
Connor was wedged between them, leaning so far forward I thought he might topple out of his seat.
His eyes tracked every movement on the ice like he was studying tape, fists clenched tight in his lap.
I knew exactly what that meant. He was itching to be out there. This had to be killing him. Especially now, when we were down by two with less than five minutes on the clock.
The sound of cheering snapped me back to the game.
Evan stole the puck at center ice, stickhandling past a defenseman before cutting hard to the right.
Another opponent closed in, and Evan feathered the puck across to Jensen, who caught it on the tape without even hesitating.
He snapped a wrist shot toward the far post, and the puck sailed just over the goalie’s pad, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying thunk.
The place exploded. Cheers, stomping boots on metal bleachers, the clang of cowbells someone had smuggled in. I glanced back at Harper’s row just in time to see Connor leap to his feet, fists pumping in the air, his grin so wide it was impossible not to return it.
Shane and I pushed through the locker room doors, the faint smell of sweat and damp gear following us out. We’d lost by one, but I’d made sure the boys knew it was a hell of a game. They’d fought hard, and I was proud of every single one of them.
That’s when I spotted Connor leaning against the wall just outside the changeroom, his stick balanced across his shoulders like the hockey version of a samurai. His eyes lit up when he saw me.
“Hey, bud,” I said, walking over “How you feeling?”
“Great,” he said instantly–then took off like he’d been saving the words all day.
“I seriously don’t get why I can’t play.
I feel totally fine. The doctor doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, but Mom keep saying I have to listen to him, but, like, if I can skate and shoot and not even fall over, why can’t I play?
It’s not like I’m gonna get hurt. And I–”
Harper appeared mid-sentence, slipping into view, her green eyes locking on Connor with a look so practised it had to be patented. “Still going, huh?”
Connor didn’t even slow down. “–and it’s my first tournament here, and all my friends are playing and everyone’s watching and–”
She rolled her eyes at me over his head. “It’s been like this since yesterday.”
I bit back a laugh, shaking my head. “Hey, why don’t you go in and say hi to the guys?”
Connor’s eyes went wide. “Can I?”
“Of course,” I said, and he was gone before I could finish, barrelling into the changeroom like a puppy who’d just been told there were treats inside.
That left just me and Harper. She let out a breath, her mouth tugging into a reluctant smile.
“He’s passionate,” I said, watching the top of Connor’s head bob between players before the door shut.
“You’re telling me,” she said. “You should’ve seen the meltdown when the doctor said he couldn’t play this weekend. You’d think the guy told him he’d never play again.”
I chuckled. “I get it. I’ve been there. When you love the game that much, nothing feels worse than being told you can’t be out there.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “Is that why you left? The NHL? You were told you couldn’t play anymore?”
Something in my chest tightened, the easy humour slipping from my face before I could stop it. “Something like that,” I said, my voice lower than I meant.
The truth sat heavy in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down.
I wasn’t ready to give that part of myself to Harper–not yet.
My past wasn’t something I was proud of, and it sure as hell wasn’t the person I was anymore.
Telling her everything now would feel like handing her a loaded weapon before I even knew if she wanted to keep me around.
And if there was even the smallest chance–if I even had a shot with her–I wasn’t about to ruin it before it started.
I shifted my weight, forcing my tone lighter, searching for an escape hatch from the conversation. “So… what are you guys ordering for dinner tonight?”
Her brows pulled together. “What?”
“It’s Friday,” I said, trying for casual. “I thought you didn’t cook on Friday’s?”
A laugh slipped out of her, soft and warm, easing the tension in my shoulders. “Oh, right. Yeah. We’re picking up pizza on the way home and having a movie night.”
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
She hesitated, her gaze lingering on me like she was weighing something. “You should come by. If you want.”
I fought to keep my tone even, like my heart wasn’t suddenly pounding in my ears. “Yeah… sounds great. I’ll just go home, change into something more comfortable, and then head over.”
Inside, though?
I was grinning like an idiot.
By the time I knocked on Harper’s door, Connor was already shouting my name from somewhere inside.
“Coach Ryan! You’re late!”
Harper opened the door with a smirk. “He’s been watching the clock like it’s game seven.”
“He’s got high standards,” I said, stepping in with a plastic bag of gummy worms, sour keys, and a family-sized bag of popcorn and M&M’s.
The warmth of the house hit me first–and then the smell. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Something sweet lingering in the air, curling around me like a memory. “Smells good in here,” I said, glancing toward the kitchen.
Connor appeared in the hallway, eyes zeroing in on the bag in my hand. “That’s because my mom’s been baking like crazy this week.”
Harper rolled her eyes, but there was a faint flush in her cheeks.
“Benny started teaching me how to bake right before Connor’s accident–so I could actually do more than just man the counter and smile at customers.
Since I’ve been home with Connor this week and not working, I’ve been trying to keep practicing so I’m not completely useless when I go back on Monday. ”
I smiled at the thought–Harper in the kitchen, flour on her cheek, hair pulled back, Connor sneaking tastes of whatever she was making. “Pretty sure you just made it impossible for anyone in this house to complain about you working.”
Connor grinned. “Did you bring snacks?”
“Only the best,” I said, holding out the bag.
He snatched it and bolted toward the living room.
Harper laughed. “You just made his entire night.”
We moved to the living room, where a mountain of blankets and pillows transformed the couch into a makeshift fort.
Connor was already pressing play on some animated movie I’d never heard of but would pretend to enjoy.
Harper sat on the edge of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, and patted the seat beside her.
“Brave enough to survive a movie night with us?”
I sank down next to her, our shoulders brushing lightly before I shifted, giving her space. “Only if you promise not to fall asleep halfway through.”
“No promises,” she teased.
About twenty minutes in, Connor glanced at me over a mouthful of gummy worms. “Coach, do you think the team’s gonna win the tournament this weekend?”
I grinned. “I think they’ve got a great shot.”
He nodded firmly. “Good. I’m watching every game, just so you know, since I can’t play.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” I said, but then hesitated. “I won’t be there for the rest of the weekend though. I’m heading to Oakville tomorrow for a few days.” My eyes flicked briefly toward Harper.
“What’s in Oakville?” she asked, her tone casual yet curious.
“Just… going to help a friend,” I said, keeping it vague.
“Cool,” Connor said, leaning back. “Anyway–even though we lost tonight, I think we are for sure going to win. Hey, watch this part. It’s the best.”
Just at the end of the movie, Connor crashed–mid-sentence, mid-gummy worm. Harper plucked the half-chewed candy from his hand and gently tugged the blanket off the back of the couch. With a little sigh, she leaned down, hooking her arms under him to lift.
As soon as she straightened, the weight of him nearly knocked her off balance. She wobbled, stumbling back a step like she might topple onto the couch.
“Woah,” I said, jumping up. “Let me.”
She shook her head stubbornly, but I was already reaching for him. “Seriously, Harper. You’re gonna kill yourself trying to get up those stairs.”
With a soft reluctant sigh, she carefully transferred Connor into my arms.
He was completely out, head flopping against my shoulder, mouth hanging open. For his size, he was surprisingly solid–every ounce of him sinking into me as I carried him up the stairs. He might have been smaller than some kids his age, though he sure didn’t feel like it.
I laid him down in bed, tugged the blanket up to his chin, and ruffled his hair before slipping back out.
When I came down the stairs, Harper was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her, waiting.
I dropped back down beside her, the warmth of her shoulder brushing mine.
For a moment, we just sat there in the flicker glow of the TV, the room quiet except for the distant sound of cartoon explosions.
“You know,” I said, stretching my legs out and popping another piece of cheesy popcorn into my mouth, “for someone who negotiated all of this, your kid really doesn’t know how to pace himself.”
Harper grinned. “He always crashes after the sugar hits.”
“So you’re saying I brought the exact right snacks?”
“I’m saying,” she said, pointing a gummy worm at me, “you are 100% to blame for the chaos that ensued in my living room before the crash.”
“Worth it,” I said, grabbing the worm midair and popping it in my mouth before she could retract her hand.
She gasped. “Did you just steal my gummy worm?”
“That’s what you get for pointing food at me. It’s a hazard.”
“You’re a hazard.”
I smiled and leaned my head back on the couch, feeling lighter than I had in days. “This was a good idea.”
“I have good ideas all the time,” she said, standing up suddenly. “Like right now–I have to pee.”
“Thanks for sharing,” I said dryly, eyes still on the ceiling. “Really painting a picture over there.”
I heard a door open and close, assumed she was heading down the hallway… until I caught the sudden rush of cold air.
Frowning, I sat up. “Wait–”
The front door burst open and Harper flew in, a handful of snow packed tightly in her mittened fist.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned, already scrambling backward across the couch.
“Oh, I dare,” she said with a wicked grin.
I dove to the side too late. The snow went straight down the back of my shirt.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, flailing like a cat in a bathtub.
She was doubled over, laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the coffee table. “That was so much better than going to the bathroom.”
“You’re a menace,” I said, twisting around and trying to shake out the ice cold slush now melting down my spine.
She grinned. “Don’t mess with my gummy worms.”
I shook my head, trying not to smile. “You’re lucky your kid is asleep or I’d be dragging you outside and dumping you in a snowbank.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Our eyes met, both of us grinning, breathless from laughing. Something quiet slipped into the space between us again.
And just as fast, she turned away, tugging her mittens back off and grabbing a towel to wipe the snow off the floor.
“Totally worth it,” she said under her breath.
And I couldn’t help but agree.
God help me, I really liked her.
And it was only getting harder to pretend I didn’t.