Chapter 29 Harper
The arena buzzed with energy as Connor and I made our way inside.
The chill in the air wrapped around us, but the lively chatter of parents and the faint clatter of pucks against the boards made it feel welcoming.
Connor practically vibrated with excitement, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, nearly as big as he was.
The older kids were on the ice for their practice before Connor’s game, and I could see him walk straight over to the glass, his eyes wide with admiration as he soaked in every move they made.
“Mom, I’m gonna score so many goals today,” he announced confidently, turning to head towards the dressing room, his steps quickening ahead of me.
“I believe it,” I said with a grin.
As we rounded the corner toward the dressing room, I spotted Ryan leaning against the wall.
Dark jeans, a fitted charcoal henley, and a black jacket that hugged his broad shoulders made him look effortlessly put together–casual, but in a way that still made my breath catch.
His clipboard was tucked under one arm, and he was watching the dressing room door like he was mentally preparing himself for the chaos about to unfold.
How does he manage to look this good all the time? I wondered, shaking my head at myself.
“Ryan!” Connor called, running up to him.
Ryan’s face lit up with a warm smile, the kind that made my chest tighten. He straightened, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Hey superstar. Ready to tear it up out there today?”
Connor nodded eagerly. “I’m gonna score ten goals!”
Ryan chuckled. “Ten, huh? Okay, I’ll hold you to that. Remember–passes count too, alright?”
“Alright,” Connor agreed, fist-bumping him.
I approached, trying to act casual, though my pulse was doing its usual flip-flop whenever Ryan was nearby. I couldn’t stop thinking about how his kisses still lingered on my lips and how easily he’d slipped into this little world of ours.
“You’ve got this bud,” I said, patting Connor’s back. “Go kick some butt.”
Connor flashed a grin before disappearing into the change room.
“That kid's confidence is off the charts,” Ryan said, watching the door close behind him.
“Wonder where he gets that from,” I replied, meeting Ryan’s eyes with a smirk.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying it's not from you?”
“Please, I’m as humble as they come.”
Ryan laughed, a sound that made my pulse quicken. “Sure you are.”
I rolled my eyes, but before I could think of a comeback, Ryan closed the space between us, his hand brushing against mine before linking our fingers together. My heart flipped as he leaned down, brushing his lips against my temple in a way that was soft and full of promise.
“You look amazing,” he murmured, his voice low. “But then again, you always do.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, Coach.”
Before the moment could escalate, Nina appeared at my side, nearly startling me. Her sharp intake of breath made me jump slightly.
“Hey guys,” Nina said, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she approached. Her eyes flicked to Ryan, then back to me with a smirk I recognized far too well. It was her I know exactly what’s going on here, and I’m not letting it slide smirk.
“Nina,” I warned under my breath, trying to telepathically tell her to drop it.
Ryan smirked, but it was me Nina focused on, her excitement bubbling over.
“Don’t even try to deny it Harper. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” I asked, feigning innocence as I reluctantly stepped away from Ryan.
“The ‘I’m totally smitten and secretly making out with my kids hockey coach before the game’ look,” she replied, crossing her arms.
Ryan coughed, clearly trying not to laugh. “I should probably get back to the dressing room,” he said, giving my hand one last squeeze before letting go.
“Yeah, you do that,” Nina teased, stepping in to steer me toward the stands.
We made our way up the bleachers, the metal steps clanging beneath our boots. The faint scent of popcorn and coffee from the concession stand drifted through the arena, mixing with the cold tang of the ice. The boards clapped as pucks ricocheted off them and the chatter of parents filled the space.
When we reached our seats halfway up, Nina tossed a folded blanket onto the cold metal bench before plopping down beside me, still grinning like she’d just won a bet.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, tugging my coat tighter and adjusting the blanket under me as I sat, focusing on the rink instead of her smug expression.
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, clearly not planning to drop it anytime soon.
By the time the game started, the arena was packed with parents and fans, their cheers echoing off the walls like we were at the Stanley Cup Finals instead of a ten-year-old hockey game.
I couldn’t help but marvel at how this town always seemed to show up for these kids, rooting for every single one of them like they were family.
I found myself on the edge of my seat, heart thumping with every play.
Connor was incredible out there–skating circles around most of the other team and keeping up the pressure, even as his teammates struggled to keep up.
It didn’t take long to notice something else. The other team's players were targeting him.
“Did you see that?” one of the moms beside me gasped as a kid on the other team tripped Connor. The ref’s whistle stayed silent.
“That’s the third time they’ve gone after him,” one of the dads added, his voice sharp.
I clenched my fists in my lap, trying to keep my anger in check.
Connor got up quickly every time, brushing himself off like it was nothing, but I could see the tightness in his movements, the subtle shake of his head as he skated back into the game.
He was holding it together, but I knew my son–he was getting frustrated.
My eyes darted to the bench, where Ryan and Shane were both on their feet, their expression thunderous. Ryan’s face was tight with anger, his gestures sharp and deliberate as he shouted at the ref.
“You’re gonna let that slide again?” Shane bellowed, his voice cutting through the noise of the arena.
The other coach waved them off dismissively, and I saw Ryan’s jaw clench as he barked something I couldn’t hear.
“You okay?” Nina whispered beside me. “That's some bullshit out there. They’re only going after Connor because he’s better than that entire team put together.”
“I’m okay,” I breathed, watching Connor skate back into the play. “Connor knows how to stand up for himself.”
Connor, skating hard for the puck, was cut off by one of the other team’s players, who gave him a sneaky shove with his shoulder. I sucked in a breath as another kid cross-checked him from behind. Connor stumbled but didn’t fall, and I could see his frustration boil over.
In a flash, Connor turned toward the kid, his stick swinging low to smash over the other boy’s stick with a sharp crack. The sound echoed, and the referee’s whistle pierced through the chaos.
Finally, I thought, as I released a breath I hadn't realized I’d been holding. Finally, the other team’s going to get a penalty.
My head shot up as the stands erupted.
“That’s ridiculous!” Nina yelled beside me, her voice furious. “They’ve been pulling crap on him the entire game, and he gets the penalty?”
I was frozen, my heart in my throat. Connor skated toward the penalty box, his head hanging, his shoulders slumped. He looked so small sitting there, the frustration still written all over his face.
On the bench, Ryan and Shane were shouting at the ref, their outrage mirroring the noise from the stands.
“You’re really going to call that and ignore everything else?” Ryan bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos.
“This is an absolute joke!” Shane added, throwing his hands up.
The ref skated over to the bench, gesturing for them to calm down, but neither Ryan nor Shane seemed ready to back off. Ryan leaned over the boards, his face set in a stony glare, clearly trying to control his temper as he argued with the official.
From the stands, the voices of other parents began to rise, one after another.
“Come on, ref! That shouldn’t be a penalty!” A dad shouted from a few rows behind me.
“That’s a cheap shot,” another voice yelled.
“You’re letting them get away with it!” someone else chimed in.
I glanced back at Connor, my heart twisting.
He was gripping his stick tightly, his face pale, though he kept them from falling.
The anger in the stands mirrored the way I was feeling, though it was more than just frustration for me now–it was a mix of pride and gratitude.
These parents didn’t just care about the game. They cared about my son.
“Hey, Connor! You’re doing great, buddy! Keep your head up!” someone called from the opposite side of the rink.
I turned to see a dad across the ice, his voice loud enough to cut through the crowd, offering encouragement directly to my son. The words hit me like a wave, and my heart swelled. It felt like the entire community was rallying behind him, standing up for him when he couldn’t.
When Ryan finally pulled back from the ref, his expression was still furious, he motioned for Connor to look his way.
Even from across the ice, I could see him talking to Connor, offering a nod of encouragement.
The crowd’s energy seemed to shift in sync with Ryan’s leadership, and I could see the weight lift from Connor’s shoulders just a little.
I felt a fierce pride surge through me as the support for Connor rippled out across the stands. These people weren’t just spectators–they were part of our family. And for a moment, it was like everything else faded away.