25. April 2, Saturday #2
Zoey laughed, lifting her camera and snapping three shots in quick succession.
The joy in the frame; a kid grinning around a mouthguard designed to look like vampire teeth, another using his stick as a sword with his friend, Ilya untangling the goalie’s skates from the netting.
It was going to be catnip for every sponsor deck she put together next season.
She moved down the glass, pretending to check on the other groups while putting herself close enough to shout encouragement to Ilya’s teams. She was supposed to be a neutral coordinator, but gravity kept pulling her back to his section of the ice.
A little boy, cheeks flushed under his cage, skated over during one of their breaks and flopped onto the bench beside Ilya. Then, seeing Zoey making her rounds, he hopped up and wobbled over until he was in front of her, blocking her path.
“I’m tired,” the kid announced gravely.
“Shift lengths in this league are brutal,” Zoey agreed. “Union will hear about it.”
“Want water?” Ilya asked, already reaching for the kid’s bottle and holding it out.
The kid nodded, awkward-jogged back, grabbed it, and then…leaned against Ilya’s legs.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he was not moving any time soon.
And neither was Ilya.
Ilya gave Zoey a small, helpless smile over the kid’s head.
It landed in her chest like a slapshot.
Something domestic and dangerous.
Ilya surprised her when he agreed to take the little kids’ group today, rather than the teens.
At the first clinic, he’d looked like a man trying to disarm a bomb whenever the little kids got within touching range.
Now? He was at ease. He knew which kid needed a joke and which one needed a steady hand at their elbow.
The fear of doing it wrong was still there.
She could see it flicker in his eyes when Jayden latched on a little too tight. But fear wasn’t running the show.
He belonged out here as much as he did in any NHL arena.
Not because he was perfect with them.
Because he was present.
Between rotations, while one set of kids shuffled off and another stumbled on, Zoey climbed a few rows into the stands to do another quick wellness lap.
Noise swelled around her—parents yelling, Cyclones’ players chirping one another, a little girl loudly predicting she would “destroy” her older brother if they ever got put against each other.
Midway up, off to one side, she spotted Madison.
The teenager claimed the end of a row and sulked there.
Her enormous black sweatshirt swallowed her, sleeves pulled over her hands.
The hood was down, braids framing her face, and the dark crescents under her eyes had deepened since the last time Zoey saw her.
Her phone sat dark in one palm, thumb resting on the edge like she’d forgotten she was holding it.
Her gaze tracked the ice with laser focus, weirdly flat and unreadable.
Zoey plopped into the chair beside her and twisted sideways to look at her over the backrest. “What’s the verdict? Judging us? Or scouting future Cyclones prospects?”
Madison snorted. “Both. Also, I’m glad you skipped the skates today. Certain coaches do not need more distractions.”
Zoey narrowed her eyes. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying, but I have suspicions.” At Madison’s pointed look, she added primly, “And therefore, I will not be commenting further.”
Then, after a beat, she leaned closer and stage-whispered in a terrible imitation of a gossiping teenager, “But you think I distract him?”
The corner of Madison’s mouth twitched, but the expression never fully reached her eyes.
Zoey’s smile softened. “Hey. Kidding aside, you okay?” she asked gently. “You look like you’re plotting to overthrow the government.”
“Just thinking,” Madison muttered, eyes dropping to her parked phone.
Zoey didn’t press.
But she filed it away; the extra fatigue, the way Madison’s eyes kept flicking to a cluster of siblings cheering together at the other end of the stands, then away fast.
“If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”
Madison made a sound in her throat, which Zoey took as assent.
A whistle blew; the next wave of kids rushed out for their mock line changes.
Leaving Madison to her thoughts, Zoey started down toward the benches to check on the snack volunteers.
She made it five steps before Bab’s familiar voice surfaced behind Zoey.
“Quick unofficial update you definitely did not hear from me.”
Zoey turned so fast she nearly clipped her elbow on the railing.
Babs stood a few steps above her, breathless, hair flying in protest, pen stuck behind one ear.
“That sentence never ends with ‘you just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii,’” Zoey said, heart already kicking up.
Babs grinned. “No, but it might be better.”
Zoey’s lungs paused.
Babs lowered her voice and leaned close enough that no one below them could hear.
“Your case worker should be calling soon, so act surprised and professional when she does. But I heard your file is moving fast now that your MAPP classes are finished. Not active-active yet. Don’t go buying bunk beds and Cricutting monogrammed lunch boxes tonight. ”
“I would never monogram before they were here,” Zoey whispered, already imagining it. “I would need to know their color choices.” Her weak joke faded off.
Babs’s smile softened. “But you’re close, Zo.”
The arena noise dimmed around the edges.
Close.
Not someday. Not eventually.
Close.
“And,” Babs continued carefully, “because you were apparently very honest in one of your home study sessions about being open to school-aged kids, in particular kids already connected to the group home…and apparently mentioned Jayden several times...” Babs lifted an eyebrow meaningfully.
“Your file is being reviewed by a unit that handles some of our kids who need a little more… intentional… matching.”
Zoey’s gaze moved to the ice.
Jayden was currently chasing a puck with fierce, pigeon-toed intensity, the hand-painted 33 on his helmet shining like a beacon.
Babs followed her glance.
“Hanna Lin’s team,” Babs said quietly. “She’s sharp. Very protective. Comes from a shiny background, but don’t let that fool you; she’s one of the best we’ve got. If she thinks something’s good for one of her kids, she’ll die on that hill.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Zoey asked, suddenly nervous.
“Then you want to know now, not later.” Babs’s eyes softened. “Nothing is promised. Nothing is signed. But getting Hanna’s eyes on your file is real movement.”
Zoey nodded because she couldn’t force words past the tightness in her throat.
A wail split the air drawing their attention. A little girl was being escorted off the ice by a volunteer, face blotchy, tears streaming.
“Duty calls,” Babs said, already moving. “Remember, you heard nothing from me.”
She jogged down toward the crying child, leaving Zoey standing with her clipboard and a heart beating far too fast.
Close.
Jayden’s case team.
Oh, God, this might actually happen.
Maybe soon.
Zoey blinked, eyes stinging, trying to absorb it.
“I thought you wanted a baby.”
The words came from nowhere, right at her shoulder.
Zoey yelped and nearly toppled down the concrete steps. “Jesus, Madison,” she hissed, hand flying to her chest. “Put a bell on or something.”
Madison stood inches away, having apparently teleported down from her claimed row. Her arms were folded tight across her sweatshirt, sleeves swallowed over her hands. Her expression wasn’t mocking; it was puzzled and pinched.
“You told me you wanted a baby.” Her voice full of accusation. Her gaze flicked to the ice, then back. “Now you’re angling to get Jayden?”
Zoey’s pulse kicked again.
First instinct: protect Babs.
“Okay,” Zoey started. “One, nothing is decided. At all. Two, you did not hear details about anyone’s case because there were no details to hear. And three, if you keep lurking in shadows like discount Batman, I’m getting you a tiny cape.”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Relax. I’m not gonna snitch. I just don’t get it.” Her mouth twisted. “Why take a kid with a whole mess attached if you could wait for a baby?”
“Ouch,” Zoey muttered, taking in the angry teen.
In a perfect world, yeah. A baby would have been first on the list. She’d be lying if she said otherwise.
So, she took a breath and tried to explain. “In a perfect world?” she started. “If a stork dropped a baby on my doorstep tomorrow, I’d say yes. I still want that someday. But it was never about checking a box that said newborn. It’s about a person who needs a home.”
Her gaze drifted back to the ice.
Jayden had fallen, popped back up, and was now arguing very seriously with Ilya about…something.
Zoey’s heart squeezed.
“Jayden and I clicked,” she confessed. “He needs someone now. Not in five years after a theoretical baby maybe shows up.”
Madison stared straight ahead, jaw working. “So, if you get him, that’s it? No baby?”
Zoey shook her head. “It’s not either/or. Maybe there’ll be a baby who needs me. Maybe there won’t. I don’t know.”
She swallowed, words feeling heavier than she expected.
“It’s never been just about having a baby. It’s about giving a kid a place to land. A forever place, if they’ll let me. Even if someday they’re mad at me, or don’t want me much, or leave anyway.”
Something in Madison’s face cracked open—raw and sharp—before she slammed it shut again. She looked away toward the far boards, shoulders up around her ears.
Zoey’s chest pinched. She nudged lightly with her elbow. “Wouldn’t you want that?” she asked, keeping her tone casual. “Even at seventeen? Someone who chooses you and sticks? Or is this a too-cool-for-school thing?”
Madison snorted. “Nobody adopts seventeen-year-olds. Something like sixty percent of us age out with nobody.” She lifted one shoulder, trying for indifferent. “I’m just math.”
That line landed like a punch. “That’s a really shitty math problem,” Zoey murmured.