CHAPTER NINE
Palisade
Later that night, a scream ripped through the house.
Casey.
I was on my feet before I was fully awake.
Disoriented, I stumbled out of bed, but my racing heart guided me by instinct toward her room.
"Casey? Baby, what's wrong?" I called, flipping on her bedside lamp.
Casey sat bolt upright, her small body trembling, tears streaming down her face. Her blue eyes were wide with terror and unfocused, as if still trapped in her nightmare.
"I couldn't get out," she sobbed, her words coming in gasps. "The ice was closing over me, and I couldn't breathe! Nobody could hear me scream."
"Oh, sweetheart." I gathered her into my arms as her heart hammered against my chest. "It was just a dream. You're safe now. I've got you."
I stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances as she clung to me. The hospital had warned me she might experience nightmares after her accident at the lake. The trauma of falling through the ice, of that moment of terror before Easton pulled her out.
"I don't wanna go back to sleep," Casey whimpered against my neck. "What if I fall through the ice again?"
I pulled her closer. "You won't, baby. You're safe in your bed. And I'm right here."
She pulled back, her face streaked with tears, determined. "I don't want to play hockey anymore."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Casey had been obsessed with hockey since she could walk. She practiced constantly in our driveway, asking for skating lessons before she could even tie her shoes.
"You don't mean that," I said, careful to keep the worry from my tone. "You love hockey."
"No!" Her voice rose sharply. "I hate it! I'm never going on the ice again! Never!"
I tried every trick I knew, including soft reassurances, gentle logic, and offering to stay with her until morning. Nothing worked. Casey's sobs turned to frantic gasps while her body trembled, gripped by a dread I was entirely helpless against.
"The ice is gonna break again," she wailed. "I don't wanna die!"
"You will not die, Casey. I promise." A lump formed in my throat as her anxiety seeped into me. "What happened was a scary accident, but the important thing is you're okay now. You're safe, baby."
"You don't understand!" She pushed away from me, her small face contorted with frustration and fear. "I can't do it anymore. I can't!"
Panic rose in my chest. Hockey wasn't just a hobby for Casey. It was her passion, her connection to friends, her favorite way to spend time with her grandfather. And if I were being honest with myself, it was also her most tangible connection to Easton.
As Casey's cries grew more frantic, a terrible blend of terror and hysteria, I understood I wasn't equipped to handle this.
The memory of Easton's calm confidence when he'd rescued her from the lake, the gentle way he'd spoken to her in the hospital afterward, his voice a soothing balm… Maybe he was what she needed right now.
I reached for my phone on Casey's nightstand before second-guessing myself.
"Casey, do you want Easton to come over?" The suggestion surprised even me as it left my lips. If he could calm her, maybe it would make things better.
She hiccuped, her sobs pausing momentarily. "Uncle Easton?"
The title made my stomach twist with guilt, but I nodded, moving a strand of hair from her face. "He might understand better. He's fallen on the ice lots of times, right? And he always gets back up."
Casey sucked in her bottom lip, her breathing still uneven, a shaky inhale of slightly calming air as the hysteria receded. Her tiny nod sent a wave of relief washing through me, loosening the knot in my chest.
My finger hovered over Easton's contact. It was after midnight. Calling him crossed a boundary I'd been carefully maintaining. This wasn't about clinic business or scheduled visitation.
But as Casey's breathing hitched beside me, I knew my daughter's well-being mattered more than any of my insecurities.
I hit call before I could change my mind.
Easton
I was still awake, hunched over my laptop, reviewing game footage, when my phone lit up with Palisade's name. My heart jumped into my throat. It was late, but besides that, Palisade would never call me unless it was something important.
"Sadie? Is everything okay?" I answered immediately, already reaching for my shoes.
"It's Casey," she said, her voice trembling with an unfamiliar, strained quality. "She had a nightmare about the accident. She's saying she never wants to play hockey again, and I… I thought maybe you could help."
The vulnerability in her voice hit me hard. Palisade Honors didn't ask for help easily. Especially not from me.
"I'll be right over," I said without hesitation, already grabbing my keys and wallet. "Tell her I'm on my way."
I hung up and was out the door in under a minute, my mind racing faster than my car as I navigated the empty streets of Amber Falls. My logical mind understood this wasn't an emergency, but something deeper was driving me, something I couldn't explain.
Hockey had been Casey's passion since I'd known her.
The way her face lit up when she talked about it, how she'd bombarded me with questions about the game whenever I visited, the Shadow Wolves jersey she proudly wore.
She was hockey crazy, just like me when I was her age.
The thought of her giving it up because of fear twisted something painful in my chest.
I took a corner too fast, my tires squealing slightly on the pavement. Slowing down, I forced myself to take a deep breath. Being pulled over for speeding wouldn't help anyone.
Why did I care about this kid so much?
The question floated through my mind as I drove through town.
Casey was great, sure. Any decent human would want to help after what happened at the lake.
But this was different. More intense than made sense for a child I'd only known a short time, even for the daughter of a woman whose soft voice and gentle touch captivated me.
Something about Casey had gotten under my skin from the first moment she'd opened Palisade's door, looking up at me with those startlingly familiar blue eyes. A connection existed that I couldn't understand. This paternal instinct was almost like a physical sensation.
The thought brought me up short as I turned onto Palisade's street. Was that it? Was I projecting some unfulfilled desire for fatherhood onto this child, who needed a male figure in her life? The idea was unsettling. I'd never particularly wanted kids.
Yet here I was, racing across town in the middle of the night because Casey was afraid, because she needed something I might be able to give her.
The strange pull toward her was undeniable.
Her presence brightened my day. I found myself easily chatting with her about hockey and life on the road in a way I'd never experienced with anyone else.
I pulled into Palisade's driveway and cut the engine, collecting my thoughts. Whatever was happening here, I needed to focus on the immediate problem. Casey was scared, and for whatever reason, Palisade thought I could help.
The porch light flicked on before I reached the door. Palisade opened it, her hair tousled from sleep, wearing flannel pajama pants and an oversized Amber Falls Veterinary College sweatshirt. Despite her exhaustion and worry, she possessed a beauty that unexpectedly captivated me.
"Thank you for coming," she said, stepping back to let me in. "I know it's late, but she was inconsolable, and when I mentioned you, she calmed down a little."
Something warm and unfamiliar expanded in my chest at her words. "Of course. Where is she?"
"In her room. She's still pretty upset."
Casey's room was awash in soft yellow light from a bedside lamp.
She sat huddled against her headboard, knees drawn to her chest, clutching a well-worn stuffed penguin.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy; her cheeks were still wet with tears.
When she saw me, her small face crumpled with fresh emotion.
"Uncle Easton!" she hiccupped, the title sending an odd pang through me. "I had a bad dream about the ice."
I sat on the edge of her bed, careful to give her space. "Your mom told me. That sounds really scary."
She nodded miserably. "I'm never going skating again. Or playing hockey. Ever."
I caught Palisade's worried glance from where she hovered in the doorway. This wasn't about a nightmare. It was about Casey potentially giving up something she loved because of fear. I knew that crossroads all too well.
"You know," I said carefully, "I've fallen through the ice before, too."
Casey's brow furrowed. "You have?"
"Yep. When I was a little older than you. I was skating on a pond behind my house, showing off some moves, and I went too close to the edge where the ice was thin."
It wasn't exactly the same as Casey's experience. I'd only gone in up to my waist before my father pulled me out, cursing at me the whole time for being stupid. But Casey didn't need to know that part.
"Were you scared?" Casey asked, her voice small.
"Terrified," I admitted. "I didn't want to go near the ice for weeks afterward."
"What made you go back?"
I smiled, thinking about it. "I realized something important. The ice wasn't my enemy. It was just ice, melting like it always does in certain spots. I needed to be smarter and more respectful of it. And I loved hockey too much to let fear take it away from me."
Casey considered this, her grip on the penguin loosening slightly. "But what if it happens again?"
"Then you'll know what to do. You'll be more careful about where you skate.
You'll recognize the warning signs of thin ice.
And you'll know that even if you fall, you can survive it.
" I leaned closer, catching her gaze. "You're one of the bravest people I know, Casey.
Brave people still get scared. But they don't let fear stop them from doing what they love. "
I wasn't sure if my words were getting through, but gradually, Casey's rigid posture relaxed. We talked more about hockey, about my own falls and injuries over the years, about how being afraid was normal, but letting fear win was something we could choose not to do.
Eventually, her eyelids drooped as exhaustion took over. As she drifted toward sleep, her small hand found mine, holding on with surprising strength.
"Can you stay until I'm asleep?"
"Of course I will, kiddo," I said, something protective and fierce swelling in my chest as I watched her.
As Casey's small body started to relax and sleep overtook her, gratitude and something more complex glimmered in their depths.
In that moment, in the quiet, shadowed bedroom of a small girl, a powerful connection swelled within me.
A deep sense of purpose, an unmatched feeling of being needed, far surpassing anything I'd known on the ice.
And I still had no idea why.