Chapter Twenty-Five
The Call
Archer
I play the best practice I’ve had in weeks.
Everything is landing—my glove is quick, my positioning is sharp, and I’m reading the shooters before they even load up.
Zayden tries to sneak one past me low blocker during a power play drill, but I get a pad on it.
He shakes his head as he skates back to the line, realizing he thought he had me, but he didn’t, and we both know it.
Ollie notices. Of course, Ollie notices.
“You’re in a good mood,” he says, dropping onto the bench next to me during a water break. “Suspiciously good. Like, disturbingly good.”
“I’m just having a good practice.”
“You’ve stopped everything today. Everything. You haven’t done that in weeks.” He squints at me. “Something happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“You went on the date.”
“How do you know about the date?”
“Because Logan told Banks, and Banks told Winnie, and Winnie told—actually, I don’t know who Winnie told, but the information made it to me, which means everyone knows. Small team, big mouths.” He takes a swig of water. “How was it?”
“Good.”
“Good? That’s it? That’s all I get? Come on, Woody, I coached you through the whole needing to date thing. I deserve details.”
“It was really good. We went to Luca’s. We talked. We had wine.”
“And?”
“And we went home and said goodnight.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“No kiss?”
I drink my water and don’t answer.
“There was a kiss.” He grins. “Look at you. Going on dates, kissing women, playing like an animal. This is a whole new Archer.”
“It’s the same Archer.”
“It’s absolutely not the same Archer. The old Archer let in three goals during the last practice. This Archer just stopped thirty-two shots and is smiling. I’ve never seen you smile at practice.”
“I smile.”
“Sure you do, Woody.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Arch. Seriously. You deserve this.”
“Thanks, Ollie.”
“Now go stop some more pucks before Coach thinks you’re slacking.”
I head back to the crease. Zayden lines up for another shot, and I’m already in position, reading his hips and anticipating the angle.
My body feels loose and ready in a way it hasn’t in months.
I feel good. I feel like myself for the first time since Bree left, maybe even longer, and I know exactly why.
After practice, I shower and check my phone. Sydney sent a photo of the twins at the kitchen table eating lunch—Lily has spaghetti sauce on her forehead, while Luke is eating his noodles one at a time with a fork. The caption reads: guess which one used a fork.
I’m typing a response when my phone rings. Not a text. A call.
It’s Bree.
Bree doesn’t call. We text. A phone call means something is either wrong or important, and my stomach drops before I even pick up.
“Hey, Bree. Everything okay? The kids—”
“Everything is okay.” Her voice is calm, measured. It’s the tone she uses when she’s had time to think about what she’s going to say before she says it. “Do you have a minute?”
I sit down on the bench in the locker room. Most of the guys have cleared out. Ollie is still at his stall, tying his shoes, but he catches something in my face and stands up, walking toward the showers without being asked.
“Yeah,” I say. “I have a minute.”
“Lily told me that you and Sydney went on a date.”
I close my eyes.
“She said Logan babysat, you wore a fancy shirt, and Sydney looked pretty. You came home happy.” Bree’s voice doesn’t waver.
“She was thrilled about it. She kept saying, ‘Daddy and Syd went on a date, Daddy and Syd went on a date.’ She told me at breakfast like she was reporting the best news of her life.”
“Bree—”
“I’m not calling to yell at you, Archer. I told you at the birthday that I’m not angry anymore, and I meant it.” She pauses. “But I need to say some things, and you need to listen.”
“Okay.”
“If you’re dating Sydney—and it sounds like you are—then we need to revisit our arrangement. Not because I think she’s bad for the kids. She’s clearly great with them. Lily adores her. Luke trusts her, which, uh, Luke doesn’t trust easily. I know that.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is what happens if it doesn’t work.
” Her voice gets quieter. “When I moved out, the twins lost having both parents in the same house. They’ve adjusted.
It took months, but they adjusted. And now Sydney is there every morning, every night, and at every bedtime.
They love her, Archer. They really love her. Lily called her ‘Mommy.’”
My jaw tightens. “That was an accident. She corrected herself.”
“I know. She told me about it. My point is that she’s attached.
Both of them are. And if you and Sydney try this and it falls apart, they don’t just lose a relationship.
They lose their Auntie Syd — the person who makes their breakfast, reads their books, and braids Lily’s hair.
They lose their whole daily life again, for the second time in a year. ”
The locker room is empty now. I can hear a shower running somewhere and the echo of the building settling around me. Bree’s voice on the phone is steady and reasonable, and I hate it because she’s not wrong.
“I hear you,” I say.
“I’m not telling you not to date her. I wouldn’t do that, and honestly, it wouldn’t matter if I tried, because I think you’ve been heading here since you were teens.
But I need you to be sure, Archer. Not hopeful.
Not excited about how good it feels right now.
Sure. Because my children can’t afford another loss. ”
“They won’t lose her.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Bree—”
“You can’t. Nobody can promise that about a relationship. But I need you to understand the stakes. This isn’t just about you and Sydney figuring out your feelings. This is about Luke and Lily’s stability, and I need to know that you’ve thought about that.”
“I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about nothing else.”
“Good.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I’d also like us to formalize some things: custody schedule, expectations, boundaries.
I think we should sit down, maybe with our lawyers, and make sure everything is clear.
Not because I’m trying to take anything from you, but because I want the kids to have structure, no matter what happens between you and Sydney. ”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I think that’s fair.”
“Thank you.” Her voice softens slightly. “Archer, I want you to be happy. I do. I just want the kids to be safe.”
“I know.”
She hangs up. I sit there holding the phone against my thigh, staring at the floor, and the high from practice, the date, and the morning drains out of me like someone pulled a plug.
She’s right. About all of it. The kids, the stakes, the risk.
I’ve been floating on the feeling of kissing Sydney, holding her hand under the table, and driving home with her fingers laced through mine, without letting myself think about what comes next.
Apparently, what comes next is a custody conversation.
More lawyers. The reality that my four-year-old daughter told her mother about my date like it was a fairy tale, and her mother heard it and thought about what happens when the fairy tale ends.
Ollie appears from the showers, towel around his waist, and sits down at his stall without asking what happened. He just sits there, waiting, because Ollie knows when to talk and when to shut up, and right now is a shut-up moment.
“Bree called,” I say.
“I figured.”
“She wants to revisit custody. Sit down with lawyers. Formalize things.”
“Because of Sydney?”
“Apparently. And because of what happens to the kids if Sydney and I don’t work.”
Ollie nods slowly. “That’s, uh—that’s a fair concern.”
“I know it is. That’s the problem.”
“Is it going to change anything? Between you and Sydney?”
I think about Sydney in the restaurant last night, telling me about the moment she knew. I think about her kissing me on the couch, her hand on my chest, and the way she looked at me in the hallway and said goodnight like the word had a different meaning than it used to.
“No,” I say. “It’s not going to change anything. But it makes everything harder.”
“Good things usually are.” He pulls on his shirt. “For what it’s worth, Bree’s not wrong. But she’s also not the one who gets to decide this. You and Sydney are.”
“I know.”
“So go home, talk to her about it, and figure it out together. That’s what people in relationships do, Arch. They figure it out together.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You just never listen because you’re too busy being stoic and repressed.” He grins. “Go home. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
The house is warm when I walk in. Lily is on the living room floor with her crayons, Luke is on the couch with a book, and Sydney is at the kitchen island chopping vegetables. She looks up when I come through the door and smiles.
The smile hits me differently today. Not because it’s changed—but because I have.
Because ten minutes ago, Bree said if it falls apart, they lose their whole daily life, and now I’m standing in the doorway watching that daily life happen in front of me.
I can see how fragile it is. How much everyone in this room is counting on it holding.
“Hey,” Sydney says. “How was practice?”
“Good.” I set my bag down. “Syd, can we, uh, talk tonight? After the kids are down?”
Her smile fades. Not all the way—just enough that I can see her register the shift in my voice. She sets the knife down. “Sure. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just—something came up that we should talk about.”
She looks at me for a long second, reading my face the way she’s been reading it since we were in high school. I don’t know what she sees, but whatever it is makes her nod slowly.
“Okay,” she says. “After bedtime.”
I nod. I go upstairs to change, and I stand in my bedroom, pressing my hands against my face, thinking about how Bree suddenly wants to get lawyers involved again.