Chapter 18
Ryder
Sage has rearranged my cabin.
Not just moved a few things around. Full-on interior redesign. The couch faces a different direction. My coffee table is now angled at forty-five degrees for "optimal chi flow." She's moved the rug, shifted the lamp, and somehow convinced my bookshelf that it wanted to live on the opposite wall.
"What the hell did you do?" I ask, standing in the doorway with my gear bag.
"Fixed your energy." Sage doesn't look up from where she's sprawled on my newly positioned couch, scrolling through her phone. "Your furniture was fighting itself. No wonder you've been so tense."
"My furniture was fine."
"Your furniture was giving off divorced-dad-who-owns-one-plate vibes." She finally glances at me. "Now it's giving off functional-adult-with-emotional-range vibes. You're welcome."
"I didn't ask for—"
My phone buzzes. I pull it out to find a text from Jax in the team group chat.
Jax: Sage just sent me a meme about my defensive positioning and I'm honestly concerned she's right
Tyler: She told me my stick tape job was "an affront to hockey" yesterday
Ben: She reorganized the equipment room this morning. Coach didn't even stop her.
Jax: Your sister is TERRIFYING and I respect her deeply
I look at Sage, who's grinning without remorse. "You've been here barely twenty-four hours."
"And I've already made this town better." She sits up, tucking her phone away. "Also, Jax is hilarious and possibly single? I asked but he deflected with a joke about his commitment issues."
"Stay away from Jax."
"Why? Is he a serial killer?"
"No, but you're my sister and he's—" I stop, because I don't actually have a good reason beyond the general terror of watching Sage unleash her personality on my teammate. "Just don't."
"Too late. We're already in a meme war." She stands, stretching. "Speaking of which, you need to get to the firehouse. Chief texted asking what time you're coming in."
"Chief texted you?"
"He's had my number for years, Ry." Her voice softens. "He checks in sometimes. See how Mom's doing, how I'm doing." She looks away. "He pulled Dad out. We stay in touch."
Of course she does. Sage could befriend a brick wall if she decided it needed emotional support.
I grab my keys. "Don't rearrange anything else while I'm gone."
"No promises!" she calls after me.
The firehouse smells like coffee and the faint scent of smoke that never quite leaves the building no matter how much we clean. Chief is in his office, door open, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviews reports.
He looks up when I knock. "Lockwood. Your shift doesn't start for another hour. I figured we chat once you were on shift."
"Figured I'd come early. Get ahead of things." I lean against the doorframe. My shift doesn't start for another hour, and I have no good reason for being here early except that sitting in my rearranged cabin felt worse.
Chief sets down his reading glasses, studies me with the same assessing look he probably used on Dad. "How's the sister visit going?"
"She rearranged my cabin."
"Sounds about right from what I've seen." He gestures to the chair across from his desk. "Sit. We need to talk."
That's never good. I sit.
Chief leans back in his chair, hands folded across his stomach. "The lieutenant promotion has a deadline. I need your answer by end of next week."
My chest tightens. "Next week?"
"I've held it as long as I can. The department needs to know if you're taking it or if I'm offering it to someone else." His voice is gentle but firm. "This is a real career, Ryder. Not a consolation prize for if hockey doesn't work out."
"I know that."
"Do you?" Chief leans forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're treating firefighting like the backup plan. The safe option. The thing you'll settle for if the NHL doesn't want you."
I grip the armrest. "That's not—"
"Your dad didn't see firefighting as second best." Chief's voice is quiet but carries weight. "Neither should you."
I stare at the desk, at the scratches in the wood from decades of firefighters sitting in this exact chair, having this exact conversation. "Dad had already made his choice by the time he was my age."
"Your dad made his choice after trying a few different things and realizing none of them mattered the way firefighting did.
" Chief stands, walks to the wall where department photos hang—decades of firefighters in turnout gear.
He taps one: Dad, grinning at the camera with soot on his face.
"He didn't pick this job because it was safe or easy.
He picked it because it was what he was meant to do. "
"And if I'm meant to play hockey?"
"Then you play hockey." Chief turns back to face me. "But if you're using hockey as an excuse to avoid making a real choice about your life? That's when we have a problem."
A drill whines in the bay, distant and hollow.
"I have one more game," I say finally. "Championship game Monday. After that, I'll know about the NHL."
"And if they want you?" Chief asks.
"Then I go."
The words come out automatic, like I've rehearsed them a thousand times.
Like there's no other possible answer. Except my chest tightens saying them.
I know exactly why, and I'm not ready to admit it to Chief.
Not ready to say her name out loud in this office where Dad's photo watches from the wall.
"And if they don't?" Chief presses.
Chief waits for an answer I don't have. If they don't want me, what then? Do I take the promotion and accept that this is my life? Do I stay in Ashwood Falls and build something here, or do I spend the rest of my life wondering what if?
"End of next week," Chief repeats. "That's the deadline. Figure out what you want, Ryder. Not what your dad wanted. Not what the town expects. What you want."
I nod, stand, head for the door.
"Ryder." Chief's voice stops me. "It's good having Sage back in town. She's doing well."
"She is."
"She also mentioned you've been sleeping better lately. Said it's because of someone." His smile is knowing. "Sometimes what we want isn't about the job at all."
The arena is packed for Game 4.
Bigger crowd than we've had all season. Win tonight and we clinch our spot in Monday's championship game. Lose and we're playing a must-win Game 5 just to get there. The scouts are in their usual seats—clipboards out, expressions neutral, watching everything.
Sage is sitting with Piper in the stands, both of them wearing Wolves jerseys. My sister catches my eye during warm-ups and gives me an enthusiastic double thumbs up that makes half the team crack up.
"Your sister is amazing," Jax says, skating past. "Also slightly unhinged. It's a great combination."
"Focus on the game."
"I am focused. Focused on how she called my slapshot 'adorably ineffective' this morning and I haven't recovered."
The music shifts to "Footloose" and the crowd roars. Time for the pre-game ritual.
The team lines up at center ice. I commit fully—always have, even when it's ridiculous.
Especially when it's ridiculous. The synchronized arm waves, the running man on skates, the sprinkler that Jax somehow makes look athletic.
Half the crowd is doing the moves from their seats, three hundred people waving their arms in perfect sync like this is a normal Friday night in Ashwood Falls.
I catch Piper's eye during my sprinkler move and wink. Her laugh carries across the ice even over the music.
Three hundred people clapping along, the team dropping to one knee with arms spread wide for the finale, and for just a second I forget about scouts and decisions and everything except this—my team, my town, this absurd tradition we've kept alive for three years.
The crowd goes wild. We skate back to the bench, and the playfulness vanishes as we huddle up. Game mode now.
The referee blows the whistle. Time to play.
The puck drops, and everything else falls away.
I'm not thinking about the scouts. Not thinking about the promotion deadline. Not thinking about Piper in the stands or Sage's knowing looks or Chief's questions about what I want.
I'm just playing.
First period, I steal the puck at center ice, rocket down the boards, and fire a wrist shot that goes top shelf past their goalie. Three hundred people jump to their feet, screaming. My first goal of the night.
Second period, I set up two perfect passes—one to Tyler who buries it, one to Jax who actually manages not to miss for once. We're up 3-1 and the other team is getting frustrated.
Third period, everything clicks.
I'm everywhere at once—stealing pucks, blocking shots, setting up plays. The other team can't keep up. With five minutes left, I score again off a rebound. Hat trick. The crowd loses it, throwing hats onto the ice in celebration.
I look up into the stands and see them—Piper and Sage, both on their feet, both screaming. Sage has her arm around Piper, and they're laughing at something, and the image hits me like a body check.
My sister. My girl. My town.
Everything that matters, right there in that moment.
With two minutes left, I get the puck one more time. The play develops perfectly—Tyler screens the goalie, Ben clears the lane, and I fire a shot that catches the corner of the net so clean the goalie doesn't even move.
Three goals. Two assists. Complete domination.
The final buzzer sounds. We win 6-2.
The team mobs me at center ice, everyone yelling and laughing and celebrating. Jax nearly tackles me into the boards with his enthusiasm. Tyler ruffles my hair like I'm five. Even Coach is grinning from the bench.
Best game of my season. Maybe best game of my life.
And all I can think about is how Piper looked in the stands, cheering for me.
The locker room is chaos.
Music blasting, everyone changing and rehashing plays, still riding the high of the win. I'm slower than usual getting out of my gear, letting the noise wash over me.