Chapter 17 Sean
Chapter seventeen
Sean
“What a freaking three-hour nail-biter!” Ben exclaimed the moment I picked up the phone.
“Don’t remember the last time I was in a war zone like that,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “My veins are still pulsing.”
Ben laughed. “This one’s going in the books. I had a watch party at the house; the boys looked shell-shocked when it ended. No better way to learn what real grit looks like.”
“That’s how skills are built. You’re doing them solid, Ben.”
“I try. But the spotlight is on you. One more series, and the Clarence S. Campbell trophy is yours. That’s legacy stuff, Murph.”
I exhaled. “Feels close enough to taste, but still a hell of a climb.”
“Yeah, but you’re in position, and no one deserves it more.”
That part landed hard. My body was wrecked, brain fried, but his words sparked something—an immediate upbeat. The best kind.
“And I get to call you my buddy? I’m proud, man,” he added.
“Stop, you’re going to make me sweat. Thanks, Ben.”
Coming from someone who’s been in the trenches with you, on the ice, in the locker room, that kind of praise hits deeper than most.
“You know,” I said after a beat, “those boys you’re working with? Someday, they’ll be saying it was Coach Philips who laid the foundation. I’m proud of you, too.”
He chuckled, the kind that carried eighteen years of history of bruises and inside jokes no one else got. We talked a little longer, about the league, about life, before hanging up.
I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes. Off day. I’d told the guys after the win we’d regroup on Monday. They’d earned a breather, one day to ride the high before we got back to grinding.
“Uncle Sean?” Cassy’s voice followed a knock on the door.
“Hey, Sweet. Be there in a sec.”
“Okay.” Her footsteps padded away, fading down the hall.
I checked the time. Past noon. I thought I’d slept a couple of hours, not half the day. I stretched, dragging myself into the shower. The water hit like a wake-up slap, cool then hot, rinsing away the dull heaviness in my head. The citrus scent cut through the fog.
Mel’s text popped into view: Coach Extraordinaire followed by hockey stick and flying pinata emojis.
I smiled. That text was still doing numbers in my head. She’d be here today, and that made me both excited and unsure. Problem was, I’d been out of this game a long time, and I had no damn clue what counted as a “casual Sunday” with the woman who had my full attention.
In the living room, Cassy perched on the edge of the couch, legs swinging, eyes glued to the TV. Pitou sat propped beside her like he was watching too, and a half-zipped jacket hung off her shoulders, one sleeve slipping down her arm.
She hopped up and met me halfway. “Uncle Sean, can we go skating today?”
I smiled and ruffled her hair. “You want a repeat, huh?”
She nodded solemnly. “Pitou wants to come too.”
I was about to answer when the back door opened and Abby stepped in, phone in hand.
“I’m sure you heard about skating,” she said with a knowing smile.
“She didn’t miss a beat,” I replied.
Abby fell into step beside me as we headed to the kitchen. The scent of fresh coffee lingered from earlier, and I poured myself a cup, the warmth seeping into my fingers.
“Great win last night,” she said. “What a match! I was sweating, so I had to walk around the couch a few times to relax.”
I chuckled. “Thanks. One of the best nights, that’s for sure.”
“You usually came through, for all I remember.”
Pride bubbled in my chest. Abby had always been one of my biggest fans, and I didn’t take that lightly.
“Thanks Abby. And how did it go with Jeff?”
“Very good, actually. He’s in New York. When he comes back, we’ll meet.” Her voice had a lift to it I hadn’t heard in months. A win for Abby’s face, finally free from its usual worry lines.
“We’ve been talking more, really talking,” she added, almost testing the words aloud.
“I’m happy for you guys.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Is Mel still on tonight?”
“Yeah. But let me text to confirm.”
I grabbed my phone and typed.
Me: Hey, dinner later, right?
A couple of minutes passed. Then:
Mel: Yep. Out with Sam, sister day before she leaves \*sad face emoji\* But I’ll be there.
Me: Nothing beats a pre-departure bonding marathon. Cassy and I are heading to the rink.
Mel: Aww. you’re wearing many titles like champ. Big bear favorite uncle, Coach Dazzler…
I chuckled.
Me: Carrying the titles with pride. Coach Dazzler—now that’s a nickname I like.
Mel: There’re many more…
Me: Oh, I bet there are. I want to hear every single one.
Mel: \*smile emoji\* Save our catch-up for tonight.
And the countdown began.
Me: Tell Sam she owes me one farewell toast, or I’ll track her down in Baltimore with a glittery brunch hat.
Mel: Ha! She said you’re invited to the going-away lunch next Sunday. Don’t flake.
No flaking here, Melanie Boyd. Couldn’t wait to see her away from that rinkside focused, no-nonsense zone she slipped into like second nature. I lived for poking fun at her when she got that serious.
I found Abby in the living room. “Dinner is on.” Then I turned to Cassy. “Sweet, you ready?”
She hopped down and twirled in excitement.
We headed out, the afternoon sun casting the front lawn palm tree’s shadow across the driveway. In the car, Cassy kept one hand on Pitou, buckled beside her. Motherhood at its finest.
The Golden State Arena was mostly empty, left was the maintenance crew and a couple of ops guys wheeling gear across the concrete. The air inside was crisp, echoing faintly with distant clinks and hums.
Cassy lit up even more the moment her skates hit the ice, wobbling forward with determined little strides. My chest did that proud flutter again, the one that sneaks up on you when you watch someone you love do something brave.
After a few laps and plenty of giggles, I guided us to the center ice.
“Uncle Sean,” Cassy beamed. “You forgot the photo!”
I laughed. Of course, she didn’t forget. She was a natural-born memory keeper, already expecting encores.
I pulled out my phone. “Hold Pitou up high. Big smile.”
She raised her toy above her head and grinned so hard her cheeks crinkled. I snapped shots. Center ice, proud five-year-old, stuffed penguin hero. Coach Dazzler moment, no question.
I was learning: kids didn’t need new things all the time; they needed good things again. The repeat, the ritual, the comfort of the known, made it magical.
We skated back to the exit. Her cheeks were flushed, hair peeking out from under her helmet. I felt that reminder again that the best moments in life weren’t the big ones, but the small ones like this, the ones you’d do over and over again.
The ride home was all chatter, Cassy recounting her “moves” as if I weren’t there and she’d won an Olympic medal. I grinned through it until we pulled into the driveway a little after three.
Inside, the house smelled of herbs, vinaigrette, and fresh bread. The delicious aroma assaulted my nostrils. Abby was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, tossing a salad with that “don’t you dare say this was easy” face.
“Skating went well?” she asked.
“She’s ready to compete,” I said, handing Cassy her backpack.
“Well done, baby.” Abby smiled at Cassy, then looked at me. “Dinner’s coming along well. I ordered a few things, made the salad, and there’s fruit chilling. Nothing complicated. You two can help me plate.”
Cassy ran to her room to put her bag away. We washed our hands and helped plate the takeout from the bag on the counter. I stole a piece of bread and earned a mock glare from Abby.
“Alright, hungry bear, go freshen up before Mel gets here. You’ve got way too much caveman energy going on.”
I showered, shaved, and pulled on dark jeans and a pale-blue button-down.
Abby wrangled Cassy into a soft dress and braided her hair neatly.
The house settled into that precompany hush: lights on, table set, and soft music low.
But I wasn’t settled as I waited for Mel’s car to pull up.
We hadn’t logged years of history, but it already mattered to me how she’d see my place, if she’d like the living room…
. I wanted tonight to feel easy, not me, a grown man with a crush, tripping over himself to make a good impression.
Shortly before five, the crunch of tires on the driveway pulled me to the door.
Mel stepped out of her car, late sunlight catching on the light-yellow dress scattered with small shapes, the hem brushing mid thigh. Hair loose. My pulse skipped.
“Hey,” she said, walking to the door with a smile.
I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and stepped back to let her in. The right foot, the left foot, and every other part of me were officially on board.
She held up a small gift bag. “I brought something for Cassy.”
Cassy came forward. “Hi.”
Mel knelt and handed over the bag. Inside was a skating-themed coloring book and a pack of glitter gel pens.
Cassy’s face lit up. “Thank you!”
She gave Mel a quick hug before darting to the couch.
We laughed.
Mel straightened and came face-to-face with Abby.
“Hi, Mel, I’m Abby. Nice to meet you,” she said warmly, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you, too, Abby. You and Sean definitely share the family smile.”
Abby laughed. “I hear that a lot, but I’m thankful to be on the smaller side.”
We chuckled, and Abby led us to the dining room.
She peeked into the living room. “Sweetie, dinner time.”
“A minute, Mommy,” Cassy called back.
I poured drinks, and we settled in. Cassy joined us soon after.
“I’ve gotten to know you these last two weeks through endless gushes. Glad to finally put a face to the awesome Mel,” Abby said, smiling.
“If it’s from Cassy, I don’t mind. But from Sean, that needs investigating,” Mel replied.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I countered. “And I’m sitting right here.”
She turned to me with mock surprise. “I didn’t notice. That tongue-tie might benefit from an investigation, too.”