Chapter 40
Connor’s game was in full swing, the energy in the rink electric as kids zipped across the ice.
I sat in the bleachers, bundled in a thick sweater against the chill of the arena.
My attention wasn’t really on the game, though.
It wasn’t even fully on Connor–though I could hear his name being shouted by parents as he darted around, making plays like he’d been born on skates.
No, my focus was mostly on Ryan.
He was down by the boards, pacing like a caged tiger. His arms were crossed over his chest, but every so often, he’d fling one out in exasperation. I couldn’t hear him over the din of the crowd, but I didn’t need to. I knew exactly what he was muttering under his breath.
“Come on, move the puck! Get your heads up!” His hands gestured wildly, his frustration mounting every time the coach called for something he didn’t agree with.
I couldn’t help but smile, watching him. He’d insisted he didn’t want to coach Connor’s spring team, claiming he wanted to enjoy being just a “hockey dad.” But seeing him now, pacing the boards like he was ready to hop over them and take charge, I had to wonder how long he could hold out.
Connor scored a goal, and Ryan fist-pumped so hard I thought he might pull a muscle. He was grinning ear to ear, shouting, “That’s my boy!” I felt my chest tighten with affection, watching the man who’d come to mean so much to both me and my son.
He was good with Connor. Constant. Reliable. Exactly what my son needed.
And somehow… what I needed too.
It hadn’t always felt this way. Things had been a little off between us the past month after everything. I’d felt myself pulling back, putting up the walls I’d spent months learning how to tear down with him. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know how to feel safe without first bracing for impact.
But Ryan never pushed.
He just… stayed.
He showed up. For me. For Connor. Over and over again, in small ways that mattered more than I ever expected. And slowly, quietly, he was proving that he wasn’t going anywhere. That maybe this wasn’t just something I had to survive. Maybe it was something I could lean into.
Maybe I wasn’t doing it all alone anymore.
After the game, the team celebrated their win with cheers and high-fives before everyone scattered.
Shane, Liam, and Nina met up with us back at my place for dinner.
These dinners had become an almost weekly tradition between the six of us.
I’m still unsure how Nina hasn’t managed to kill Shane yet.
The evening April air was crisp but not too cold–perfect for a fire.
We’d set up in my backyard, chairs clustered around the crackling flames as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Connor and Liam had their own little setup, roasting marshmallows and competing to see who could toast the perfect golden brown.
Ryan sat next to me, his arm draped casually around my shoulders, while Shane and Nina bickered good-naturedly about how many hot dogs Shane had already eaten.
“You’re going to need a second workout just to burn those off,” Nina teased, swatting at his hand as he reached for another bun.
“I’m carbo-loading,” Shane replied with a grin. “Besides, they’re small.”
“They’re not small, you just have a hollow leg,” she shot back, rolling her eyes.
Liam and Connor burst out laughing, their marshmallows forgotten for a moment.
The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter and banter weaving through the group like a warm blanket. I leaned into Ryan, breathing in the scent of smoke and pine and him. His fingers brushed against my shoulder absently, the touch grounding and comforting.
It was one of those evenings where everything felt right, like the world had finally aligned in our favour. I allowed myself to believe that this happiness might actually last.
I headed inside to grab more marshmallows for the kids. The laughter and crackling of the fire drifted in through the open window, grounding me in the warmth of the night. As I reached the counter to grab the bag, I noticed my phone lighting up on the kitchen table.
A text from an unknown number.
Curious, I swiped it open, expecting it to be a wrong number or some spam. Instead, my stomach dropped.
The message contained links to several articles, accompanied by a single line.
Unknown: You might want to know the truth about Ryan.
I hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen. My heart started to race, a drumbeat of anxiety pounding in my chest. With trembling fingers, I clicked the first link.
The headline read:
Ryan Barzal: The NHL’s Bad Boy
Bad boy? My heart sank further as I skimmed the article from three years ago.
It was a profile detailing Ryan’s career–how he was known for his aggression on the ice, how he thrived on playing a physical game, picking fights, even toeing the line of what was considered acceptable with dirty hits that caused injury.
There were paragraphs describing fights he’d been in, hits that had been called dirty by analysts and commentators. It painted a picture of someone who played not just hard but recklessly–someone who seemed to care more about taking out opponents than winning games.
I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. This didn’t sound like the Ryan I knew.
I clicked the next link.
The Hit That Ended Kyle Everett’s Career
My breath caught as I read. Kyle Everett. I’d heard Ryan and Shane both mention the name, there were pictures of them all together at Ryan’s house. He’d never gone into detail, and I hadn’t pressed.
The article described a game that had ended in tragedy.
Ryan had delivered a hit on Kyle, one deemed excessively dangerous.
Works like “reckless,” “career-ending,” and “life altering,” jumped out at me.
My stomach churned as I read about how Kyle had been sent flying into the boards, how he’d crumpled to the ice, unmoving.
It described his injuries in detail: a shattered vertebra, permanent spinal cord damage, life forever changed.
The writer of the article hadn’t pulled any punches, going on to talk about how Ryan had been suspended and vilified in the media, how fans had turned on him overnight.
I dropped my phone onto the counter like it had burned me, pressing a hand to my chest to try to calm the wild beating of my heart.
My head spun. The Ryan I knew was kind, protective, gentle–especially with Connor. But this… this was violent. Reckless. Dangerous.
Why hadn’t he told me?
The room felt like it was closing in around me, the air thick and suffocating. I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself, staring at the phone like it might explode.
I couldn’t shake the image the articles painted of him–a man charging across the ice, fuelled by anger and adrenaline, leaving devastation in his wake. Was that really who Ryan was deep down? Had I been blinded by the version of him I wanted to see?
He’d held me when I was bleeding out, his hands trembling as he begged me to stay awake. He was the one who’d made Connor laugh when I couldn’t, who paced the boards like a nervous dad at every game.
Now though? A shadow loomed over those memories.
I didn’t know how to reconcile the man I loved with the one described in those articles.
The sound of laughter from outside snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts, but my knees felt weak, my chest tight. I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to steady my breath.
Why hadn’t he told me? Why did I have to find out like this?
Was there more he was hiding?
The firelight still flickered outside as I stepped back into the circle, clutching the tray of marshmallows like it was a lifeline. Everyone was laughing about something Shane had said, but their voices felt distant, like I was underwater.
I tried to sit down and act normal, forcing a smile when Nina nudged me, but my head was spinning. My hands were clammy, and I kept clenching and unclenching them in my lap, trying to shake the images from the articles out of my mind.
Ryan was pacing near the fire, throwing in the occasional joke or comment, his easy grin lighting up his face. He looked so… normal. Still, all I could think about was the man described in those articles.
Aggressive. Dangerous.
Was he really that person?
“Hey, you okay?” Ryan asked suddenly, his eyes flicking to mine. He tilted his head, studying me with concern.
I quickly nodded, my voice catching in my throat. “Yeah, just tired.”
He frowned slightly but didn’t push. Shane said something else, pulling Ryan’s attention, and I exhaled shakily, grateful for the distraction.
I barely registered the rest of the evening. Shane was the first to leave, clapping Ryan on the back and giving me a quick hug before heading out. Nina and Liam followed not long after, with Connor bouncing excitedly at the idea of a sleepover.
“Bye, Mom!” Connor shouted as he ran out the door with Liam, his backpack swinging wildly behind him.
“Have fun!” I called back, my voice strained.
When the door clicked shut behind them, the house fell silent.
Ryan turned to me with a warm smile, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Well, that was fun.”
I forced a smile and nodded, moving toward the kitchen to start cleaning up. My heart was racing, every nerve in my body on edge. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, colliding into each other.
Why didn’t he tell me? Did he think I couldn’t handle it? Or worse, was he still that person deep down, hiding it behind this caring, protective facade?
Ryan came up behind me, reaching for the dishes in the sink. “I’ll dry,” he offered, bumping my good shoulder playfully.
My shoulders stiffened, but I didn’t respond. Just handed him a plate, the tension in the air thick between us. How was I even supposed to bring this up? The thought of voicing my fears made my chest tighten, like there wasn’t enough air in the room.
He glanced at me sideways, his brow furrowing. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet all night.”