25. Evan
Chapter 25
Evan
" Y ou missed again," Ryland says, retrieving another puck. "That's like, what, the tenth time today?"
"Eleventh," Coach Martinez calls from the bench. "But who's counting?"
"Everyone's counting," my buddy Mike Callahan chimes in from where he's watching practice today. "Kind of hard not to when the Ice Man's melting down."
"Kind of like your golf game last week," I yell over to Mike, resetting my stance. I’m just having an off day, for fuck’s sake. It happens to everyone. Unfortunately, it’s been happening to me way too often lately.
Ryland lines up another shot. "Why do you keep staring up at the empty stands? Who are you looking for?"
"Just take the shot." I really need to take this kid down a notch of two. He’s too much right now.
"You know," Ryland says, skating closer instead, "she used to write down every save you made. Had this whole color-coding system. "
"Red is for glove saves," Sophie had explained during her first week watching practice. "Blue for blocker. Purple for butterfly saves, because those are my favorite."
"You have favorite saves?"
"I have favorite everything about you," she'd said quietly, not looking up from her notebook.
"Ryland."
"Red for glove saves. Blue for blocker. Purple for…"
"Take. The. Shot."
He does. It goes in clean, right between my legs. Fuck…
The rink goes silent.
"Uncle Evan…"
"Don't." I straighten up, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest. "Good shot. Again."
"No." He skates over to the boards. "We need to talk."
"We need to practice."
"Practice isn't the problem." He pulls off his helmet. "You are."
Mike lets out a low whistle. "Kid's got guts."
"Kid's got a death wish," Coach mutters, but he doesn't intervene.
I stay in the crease, clinging to the last shreds of my dignity. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Ryland skates closer. "You're a mess. Have been for weeks."
"Did you see that save?" Sophie had called from the stands. "Classic Ice Man. Except..."
"Except what?"
"Except you smiled after. Just a little." She'd grinned. "You're getting soft, Daniels."
"Never."
"Liar. I saw it. Got photographic evidence and everything."
"Delete it."
"Make me."
I had. Later. I told her I wouldn’t make her come again until she got rid of it. She deleted it immediately.
"I'm fine."
"Really? Why can’t you get your head in the game, then?”
"Enough."
"No, not enough!" His voice echoes through the empty arena. "You're doing it again. Pushing everyone away."
From the bench, Coach starts gathering his notes. "I think we should give them some space."
"Are you kidding?" Mike settles in. "This is better than Netflix."
"I am not," I say, even as my heart pounds. "I'm being…"
"Professional?" Ryland laughs harshly. "Yeah, that's working out great. You're so professional you can't even stop a simple shot."
"Watch it, kid."
"Or what? You'll push me away too?" He shakes his head. "Too late. Already did that by not telling me the truth about Clark. About Chelsea. About any of it."
The names hit like body checks.
"That's different."
"Is it? Or is it just another example of you deciding what's best for everyone without actually talking to them?"
"You don't understand…"
"Then help me understand!" He throws his stick down. "Help me understand why you're letting the best thing that's ever happened to you walk away!"
"She's a reporter!"
"She's family!" The words echo through the rink. "Or she was, until you decided being right was more important than being happy."
I stare at my nephew—really look at him—and suddenly see the man he's becoming. The leader. The fighter.
The one brave enough to say what everyone's thinking.
"It's not that simple," I say finally.
"Actually, it is." He retrieves his stick. "You're just making it complicated because you're afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of being happy. Of letting someone in. Of admitting that maybe, just maybe, Sophie's different."
"The kid's got a point," Mike calls out.
"Nobody asked you," I growl.
"Nobody had to." He stands up. "We all see it. How you light up when she's here. How you actually laugh at practice. How you're not just the Ice Man anymore."
"I was never just…"
"Yes, you were." Coach joins the conversation. "Ever since Chelsea, you've been all ice. No warmth. No joy. Just...frozen."
"Until Sophie," Ryland adds softly.
"You're not actually made of ice, you know," Sophie had said one night after practice. "You just let people think that because it's safer."
"Isn’t it?"
"No." She'd touched my face. "It's lonelier."
"She went to Clark."
"Because you wouldn't talk to her!" Ryland throws his hands up. "God, you're impossible. She tried, Uncle Evan. She tried so hard to understand, to be patient, to love you despite all your walls you put up."
The word makes my chest tight.
"Love has nothing to do with…"
"It has everything to do with it." He starts skating backward. "You know what Mom told me about Sophie? About why she hired her as an intern in the first place?"
"Ryland…"
"Because on her first day covering practice, she stayed three hours after everyone left. Just watching you work with the rookie goalies. And when Mom asked her why, you know what she said?"
I shake my head.
"She said, 'Because everyone sees the Ice Man, but I think there's more. I think there's warmth there, if you know where to look’."
The words hit like a slap shot to the chest.
He lines up another shot. "She saw you, Uncle Evan. The real you. And instead of being grateful, you pushed her away."
The puck flies past me again. I barely notice.
Coach blows his whistle. "All right, that's enough for today. Everyone hit the showers."
"Except you two," Mike adds. "You clearly need to finish this conversation."
They file out, leaving me alone with Ryland and too many truths.
"It's not that simple," I say again, but the words sound hollow even to me.
"Actually, it is." He starts gathering pucks. "The question is, are you brave enough to admit it?"
"Brave enough to what? To trust someone who went behind my back? Who…"
"Who loves you enough to try to understand your past instead of running from it?” He skates to the boards. "Who makes you happy?"
"She can’t be trusted."
"She's Sophie. She’s been there for all of us. Repeatedly." He grabs his water bottle. "And you're an idiot."
"Watch it."
"Or what? You'll push me away too?" He starts heading for the locker room, then pauses. "Is that what you want?"
He disappears into the locker room before I have a chance to answer, leaving me alone on the ice.
I check my phone which has way too many new texts.
Julia: Just read Sophie's new draft. It's terrible. Technically perfect, but terrible.
Natalia: Dad? My math grade went down. I miss Sophie's help.
Mike: Fix this. The team needs the Ice Man, not the Broken Man.
And finally, one from Sophie herself:
Found your lucky tie in my car. The one you wore to Natalia's science fair. Should I mail it? Wouldn't want to cross any boundaries.
The sarcasm in that last message stings worse than Ryland's multiple goals on me today.
Coach skates back out slowly, breaking my thoughts. "Want to know what I think?"
"Not really."
"Too bad." He hands me a water bottle. "I think you're so busy protecting yourself from getting hurt that you don't see when you're the one doing the hurting."
"That's what Ryland said."
"Kid's smart." He pauses. "Smarter than his uncle, apparently."
And maybe that's the real save I need to make. Not on the ice. Not in my career. Not even with my family. But with my heart. If I'm brave enough to try. If it's not too late. If...
My phone buzzes again.
Ryland: The real story—the one she didn't submit—includes the line, “Some say Evan Daniels is made of ice. But I've felt his warmth. And that's a story worth telling.”
I stare at the message for a long time.
Then I start typing.