19. Evan
Chapter 19
Evan
" Y our head's not in this today, old man."
I barely catch the puck Ryland fires at my glove side. It’s more luck than skill. He's right—I'm distracted, sloppy. Have been all week since that last night in Sophie's apartment.
The memory of her in my shirt, sleep-warm and perfect, keeps interfering with my focus. Along with the way she's been hovering at the edges of practice, professional mask firmly in place, instead of sitting in her usual spot calling out stats and observations.
"I'm fine."
"Sure." Ryland skates closer, frowning. "That's why you've missed six shots in the last hour. And why Sophie's not watching from her usual spot."
Coach Martinez blows his whistle from the bench. "Take five, boys! Daniels-both of you—get your heads in the game!"
I definitely don't look toward the glass doors where Sophie's been hovering all morning, notebook clutched to her chest like a shield. Don't notice how tired she looks, like maybe she's not sleeping either.
"The feature's almost done," I say, adjusting my pads unnecessarily. "She doesn't need to be here."
"Right..."
"Ryland."
"What? I'm just saying…"
"Well, don't." I straighten up, trying to find my game focus. "Again. This time with that new move we've been working on."
He studies me for a moment, then sighs. "You know, Natalia asked about her yesterday. Wanted to know why Sophie missed dinner Sunday."
The guilt hits like a check to the boards. I think of how Sophie usually helps Natalia with her homework before we eat. How she always brings dessert and makes Julia laugh. I think of how she just...fits.
"She's busy," I say shortly. "The feature…"
"Could have been done days ago." He lines up another shot. "Instead, she's rewriting everything to be 'more professional' according to Mom."
The puck hits my blocker with more force than necessary.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means she's trying so hard to be politically correct that she's taking all the heart out of it." He retrieves the puck. "Mom says the new drafts read like any other sports article. No personal details. No family moments. Just stats and quotes and…"
"Good." The word comes out harsh. "That's what it should be."
"Is it?" He sends another shot, this one nearly getting through. "Because the old version? The one that showed who we really are? That was something special."
"It was too personal."
"Maybe that's what made it good." He stops skating, fixing me with a look too wise for his age. "Maybe that's what made her good. For the story. For us. For you."
Before I can respond, movement by the doors catches my attention. Clark Ellis, in another of his too-expensive suits, approaching Sophie.
My blood runs cold.
"Actually," I say, already skating toward the boards, "let's take five."
But I'm too late. Clark's already talking, and Sophie—professional to a fault—is listening politely. Her reporter mask is firmly in place, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers tighten on her notebook.
She holds it that way when something makes her nervous but she’s trying to hide it.
"…just wanted to discuss Ryland's future," I hear Clark say as I get closer. "Since I'll be representing him at camp."
Wait. What?
"Since you'll be what?" I'm over the boards before I realize it.
Clark's smile is razor-sharp. "Didn't Ryland tell you? We had a great meeting yesterday. Kid's got his head on straight—and you know I know talent when I see it."
"You’ve got real talent, Evan," Clark had said about me once, back when we were teammates. Before everything. "Let me help you manage it. Your image, your brand... your family's future."
I'd trusted him then.
Right up until I found him with Chelsea.
I look at Ryland, who's followed me off the ice. "Is this true?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "I was going to tell you..."
"When?" My voice comes out harder than intended. "After you signed with him? After he…"
I cut myself off, too aware of Sophie watching with those sharp reporter eyes. The same eyes that see too much, that make me want to tell her everything. That make me want to trust again.
"After he what?" she asks softly.
"Nothing." I force my fists to unclench. "Ryland, hit the showers. We'll discuss this later."
"Uncle Evan…"
"Later."
He goes, but not before giving Sophie an apologetic look. Like he knows what's coming.
"Well," Clark says into the tense silence, "this has been fun, but I've got other clients to see. Sophie, looking forward to our meeting tomorrow."
Meeting?
"What meeting?" I spit the words out of my mouth.
"Just a friendly chat about the hockey scene." Clark straightens his tie. I feel a fresh wash of bitterness toward him as I see the familiar motion. "Maybe discuss some background for that feature she's writing. I've got some great stories about the old days..."
The threat is clear in his tone. All these years later, and he still knows exactly how to hit where it hurts.
"Sophie's feature is done," I say coldly. "She doesn't need any background."
"Actually," she cuts in, and something in her voice makes my chest tight, "I think getting multiple perspectives could add depth to…"
"No."
She blinks at my tone. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. No meetings with Clark. No additional perspectives. No…"
"You don't get to dictate my sources." Her voice has gone neutral. The way it does when she's hurt but trying to hide it. "I'm still a reporter, Evan. This is still my job."
"A job that's gotten remarkably personal, wouldn't you say?" Clark's smirk makes me want to punch him. "Amazing access you've gotten. Very...intimate coverage."
Sophie pales slightly. "That's not…"
"Stay away from her." I move between them before I can think better of it. "Both of you, stay away from my family."
"Your family?" Sophie's voice cracks slightly.
"That's not what I…"
"Because last I checked, I was just doing my job. The one you agreed to. The one you said you trusted me with."
"Things have changed."
"Have they?" She clutches her notebook tighter. "Or are you just showing me who you really are? Someone who thinks he can control everyone around him because he's afraid of getting hurt again?"
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" Her eyes are suspiciously bright. "Then explain it to me. Tell me what Clark did that was so terrible. Tell me why you're so scared of anyone getting close."
"I said drop it!"
She flinches at my tone, and immediately I hate myself.
"Sophie…"
"No, you're right." Her voice is steady even as she backs away. "I should drop it. All of it. The feature, the family dinners, the..." She swallows hard. "All of it."
"Wait…"
But she's already gone, practically running for the exit.
"Well," Clark says into the silence, "that was dramatic. Almost like history repeating itself, wouldn't you say?"
I turn on him, vision going red at the edges. "If you go near her…"
"You'll what? Ruin my career? Pretty sure you tried that already." He straightens his jacket. "Face it, Evan. You're poison to everyone around you. Always have been."
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me with ice in my veins and ghosts in my head.
Coach Martinez approaches slowly, like he's afraid I might snap.
"Want to tell me what that was about?"
"Not really."
"Too bad." He hands me a water bottle. "Because whatever's going on between you and Ellis is affecting my star prospect. And whatever's going on with you and Bennett is affecting my star goalie."
"Coach—"
"Don't 'Coach' me. I've known you too long for that." He sighs. "Look, I was here for the Chelsea disaster. I saw what it did to you. But this isn't that."
"You don't know that."
"I know Sophie Bennett. Watched her during her internship, remember? Girl worked harder than anyone, never asked for special treatment, treated everyone—from the equipment managers to the star players—with the same respect."
"That's not…"
"And I've seen how she looks at you. More importantly, I've seen how you look at her."
I take a long drink of water, trying to find words. "It's complicated."
"Life's complicated, kid. Doesn't mean you run from the good parts."
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Julia: Just saw Sophie leave. She was crying. What did you do?
I stare at the message, remembering Sophie's face when I snapped at her. The way she backed away like I was someone to fear instead of...
"Fix it," Coach says quietly. "Before you lose something worth keeping."
Another buzz. Ryland this time: For what it's worth? Clark approached me. I didn't seek him out. But maybe if you'd told me why he's such bad news...
I start typing, delete it, start again.
Finally: You're right. I should have told you. About everything.
His response is immediate: Start with Sophie. She's the one who deserves answers.
"He's right, you know." Coach is still watching me. "That girl deserves the truth."
"The truth?" I laugh harshly. "That I let Clark Ellis destroy my marriage? That I trusted him with my family, and he…" I cut myself off, the old pain still too raw.
"No. The truth that you're pushing her away because you're scared. Because it's easier than admitting she might be different."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes one last time.
Sophie: Don't worry about the feature. I'll have someone else finish it. Someone more...professional.
The word hits like a slapshot to the chest.
Because this is what I wanted, right? Distance. Clear boundaries. No complications.
So why does it feel like I just lost everything that matters?
"You know what your problem is?" Coach says, gathering his clipboard. "You're so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt that you don't see when you're the one doing the hurting."
He leaves me there, standing on melting ice, surrounded by the wreckage of my own fears.
Because he's right. They're all right.
I'm pushing away the best thing that's happened to me in years because I'm afraid it might end badly. Which is guaranteeing it will end badly.
My phone buzzes again. Natalia this time:
Dad? Is Sophie mad at us? She didn't answer when I texted her...
The guilt is immediate and crushing.
Because it's not just me I'm hurting, is it? It's everyone who's come to count on Sophie's presence in our lives.
Everyone who's started to think of her as...as family.
The answer whispers through my head in Sophie's voice:
Because some things are worth complicating.
Too bad I realized it too late.
Or maybe...
I look at the exit where she just disappeared, then at my phone. At all the people telling me I'm making a mistake.
Maybe it's not too late.
Maybe there's still time to…
"Uncle Evan?" Ryland's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Got a minute?"
I turn to find him changed back into street clothes, looking more serious than I've ever seen him.
"About Clark…"
"No." He holds up a hand. "First, you're going to tell me everything. About him, about Aunt Chelsea, about why you're really pushing Sophie away."
"Ry…"
"Because I deserve to know. And because maybe if you practice telling me, you'll find the courage to tell her."
I look at my nephew—no longer the kid who used to beg for extra practice time with me, but a man who understands much more than I give him credit for.
"Okay," I say finally. "But not here."
"Coffee?"
"Something stronger."
He nods, understanding. "I'll drive."
As we head out, I catch sight of Sophie's notebook—dropped during our argument, pages scattered across the floor.
I pick it up, meaning to just gather the pages, but one catches my eye.
Some say Evan Daniels is made of ice. They don't see how much warmth he holds inside. How carefully he guards it. How much courage it takes to let anyone close enough to feel it...
My vision blurs.
Because that's the thing about Sophie Bennett—she sees me. Really sees me. And I just pushed her away for it.
"Come on," Ryland says gently. "Let's go figure out how to fix this."
But some things, once broken, are hard to fix.
Even if they're so important that you give everything to try.