Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
MADDY
“Too fast for you, old man?” I ask innocently, cutting the engine and giving him a wicked smile.
He scoffs, opening his door and getting out of the car, grabbing his hockey bag from the back. “Who are you calling old? I just skated this morning and here I am in the afternoon, about to skate with you again. Would an old person do that?”
Jingling the disco balls on my rearview mirror for good luck, I sigh, grabbing my own hockey bag and following my dad to the arena doors.
“I miss skating early in the morning. What’s the fucking point of having a literal key to the arena from my famous dad if I can’t use it to skate before the sun comes up? ”
My dad tosses an arm around my shoulders as we push through the doors. “I know how much you love an early morning skate. You can still do it, you know. You can work your schedule around it.”
I shrug, adjusting the bag slung over my shoulder. “A lot of the guys get in super early to get a workout in, and they like to come and see me after. I like to be there for them when they need me, and for some of them, early morning is that time.”
“I’m proud of you, you know. You’re doing amazing things there already.”
I shrug, even as I feel a shot of pride at my dad’s words. He’s my favorite person in the world, and knowing that he sees what I’m trying to do means everything. “I couldn’t do it without you. You’re my OG inspiration.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I love you big, you know. And that’s all I’m going to say unless you want me to lose my shit completely and turn into a very teary puddle of emotion right here in this arena.”
I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder and smiling.
Jeremy Wright, the big, bad former professional hockey player, is actually a total marshmallow when it comes to the people he loves.
It’s the very best thing about him. “In fact, I do know that. And if you want to turn into a teary puddle of emotion, you know I would be here for it.”
We come to a stop at the wall of glass separating the rink from the arena lobby and pause, like we always do before we walk through the doors and out onto the ice.
My dad looks down at me, face tight with emotion.
And just like every time we’re here, I know he’s thinking of the first time we stood at this door together, just him, my mom, and me.
My dad was one of the best centers the Lightning had ever seen until a bad hit during a game left him with a shattered kneecap, a mess of torn ligaments, and an early retirement.
Even after he was healed enough to put on skates, his grief for what he lost was a massive wall preventing him from getting back on the ice.
But when he and my mom started dating—right around the time I came to live with her—she saw how badly he needed skating back in his life.
One day she and I surprised him at the rink with brand new skates, and we both held his hand as he took his first steps back onto the ice in fifteen years.
I think, more than any other, that was the day we became a family.
My dad coached my hockey teams for years, and we’ve skated together hundreds of times since, but I know that neither of us will ever forget that day.
That day changed us. Changed me. It was the day my mom and dad made their relationship official, even though I know now that nothing between them had ever been casual.
And it was the day I understood, for the first time in my life, that home wasn’t just a place.
Sometimes home is a person, and I found my home in Emma Langley and Jeremy Wright.
After that day on the ice, we belonged to each other, and we have every single day since.
“Looks like we’ve got some company.” My dad’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I glance out at the ice, my stomach bottoming out when I catch sight of a very familiar head of messy brown hair right in the middle of the rink.
Cam.
His back is to me, but for reasons I am too afraid to dissect right now, everything from the broadness of his shoulders, to the way his back narrows to his hips, to the way he moves so effortlessly is as familiar to me as breathing.
And when he turns in his skates, his eyes meeting mine through the glass door, a grin splits his face and the breathing I mentioned? That stops completely.
Then Ethan comes flying down the ice and hip checks Cam, and I can hear Cam’s laugh through the glass as he pushes off and chases after his son.
Riley appears out of nowhere, whizzing after them until all three Lowrys are racing around the rink in a formation that reminds me so much of the way I used to skate with my mom and dad that my chest actually aches.
And I’m suddenly deathly afraid that a little piece of the heart that used to beat only for myself and my family now beats for the three of them, and I don’t know how to stop it.
Or whether I even want to try.
“Friend of yours?” my dad asks, his tone giving I am stirring shit right now.
“Not really,” I say casually. “I know him from work. He plays for the team. He’s an offensive lineman.”
My dad rolls his eyes. “Give me some credit, Little Red. Cam Lowry has been a Renegade for, like, thirteen years. I would recognize him anywhere.”
“That makes one of us,” I mumble, thinking how much easier everything would be right now if I had recognized Cam that night at the bar.
But then I wonder whether I would erase what happened between us if I could, and I know I wouldn’t, even though my life is a giant pile of chaos and half-lies right now.
“What’s that?” he asks with a grin.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Looks like they’ve got the ice and we won’t get to have our alone time, so we should just go. We can reschedule.”
My dad shakes his head. “No way. We’re here, and we’ve got skates, and look!” He points to the ice. “I think I have a fan who wants to talk to me.”
I glance up and snort out a laugh when I see Ethan pressed up against the glass surrounding the rink, hair damp with sweat and mouth half-open as he stares at my dad like he’s Taylor Swift or something. “No way does he recognize you. He’s ten, and you played a million years ago.”
My dad pats me on the shoulder before pushing through the door. “Never underestimate hockey fans, Little Red,” he says over his shoulder.
“I am a hockey fan,” I mutter, following him through the doors, regretting every life choice that has led me to this moment.
“Oh my god, you’re Jeremy Wright!” Ethan practically trips over his skates in his attempt to get off the ice and in front of my dad as quickly as possible.
“I sure am,” my dad says, smirking at me as if to say I told you so, before turning his attention back to Ethan. “Those were some sick moves out there.”
“I play hockey,” he says breathlessly. “I had a game, but I wanted to practice more, and my dad got permission for us to stay on the ice longer, and then he and my sister came to skate with me too. What are you doing here? And what are you doing here?” he asks, turning to me.
“How do you know Jeremy Wright? He’s, like, the best hockey player the Lightning ever had except for maybe his son, Oliver, but he hasn’t been playing long enough yet to know for sure. ”
I smile at him because his hero worship is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen even if I can practically feel my dad’s ego grow with every word out of Ethan’s mouth.
“He’s my dad. Oliver is my brother, and you better not tell him you think he might be better than my dad one day.
He’ll be insufferable.” Ethan laughs when I roll my eyes, but then he looks at me with something resembling awe.
“I can’t believe Jeremy Wright is your dad.”
I shrug, glancing up at my dad with a smirk. “He’s pretty annoying sometimes, but he’s mostly okay.”
“Don’t listen to her,” my dad says with a grin, slinging his arm back around me. “She loves me because I taught her everything she knows about hockey. She led her high school team to state championships two years in a row and then went on to play in college.”
“You did?” Ethan’s eyebrows disappear up into his hair, and then he turns to my dad. “Can you teach me stuff too?”
My dad beams. “Sure, little man. Let me get my skates on and we can run some drills. I’ll have you NHL-ready in no time.”
“Oh my god, seriously?” Ethan whispers, looking a little like he might faint.
I stifle a laugh that dies completely at the sound of a deep, raspy voice that has my stomach swooping.
“Hey, Wildcat.” Cam sidles up to us and comes to a stop behind Ethan, laying a hand on his shoulder.
He’s dressed in jeans and a navy-blue hoodie, his skates giving him a few extra inches that make his already tall frame even more imposing.
Or, it would be imposing if his flushed cheeks and eyes that sparkle when they land on me weren’t suddenly making it hard for me to breathe again.
“Cam Lowry,” he says, holding a hand out to my dad.
My dad shoots me a look at, I’m sure, the Wildcat of it all, before shaking Cam’s hand with a smile. “Jeremy Wright. I can’t believe we’ve never met before. You’ve done such great work with Kids Play.”
Kids Play is the foundation my dad started after he retired from the NHL, and it’s one of the most powerful foundations in sports, its mission grounded in the belief that cost should never be a barrier to entry for kids in sports.
Except… “I thought you worked with Gabe’s foundation?
” I blurt out, unable to put a lid on my need to know things about him. Anything. All the things.
Cam smirks at me like he knows exactly where my brain went. “I work with Kids Play too sometimes. I was a kid in sports, and I have a kid in sports. I know how fundamental sports are at young ages, and I like being a part of making sure every kid who wants to play can.”