11. Dylan
DYLAN
“D-Girl!” Bear pulls me through the front door of his modest two-story home and straight into his arms. “Congratulations.”
His words are muffled against my shoulder. Still, they bring a smile to my lips.
First-line left wing for the Steelhawks!
I might have been confident but seeing my name on the first-line list was…everything.
Releasing him, I step back, a wide, toothy grin splitting my face. Bear is wearing his usual getup—an old flannel and jeans—his hands squeezing my upper arms as he beams back at me.
“I knew you had it in you.”
This might be my third season playing college hockey but it’s my first on the first line. The coach on my old team never started me above third, even though I was better than every other left wing on the team.
Smirking, I taunt, “It helps that I’ve got an in with the coach.”
Shaking his head, his expression grows more serious, eyes softening as they hold mine.
“That was all you, D-Girl. You put in the work, and it showed. You know I wouldn’t have given it to you if you hadn’t proved yourself—and not just to me.
” Yeah, I’m not sure I’ve really proven myself to the team, yet.
I mean, my ability on the ice should be enough, but sadly it doesn’t seem to be.
I’ve deliberately avoided the entire team since the roster was put up, but I doubt any of them are pleased.
Coach squeezes my shoulder, regaining my attention as he brings his face level with mine. As if sensing where my thoughts have gone, his expression is hard, intent. “More than that, I wouldn’t have given you the spot if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
I swallow roughly, my responding smile soft and genuine, as I move in to give him another quick squeeze around his middle. “I know, Bear. I won’t let you down.”
“You never have, D-Girl. Never.”
I bury my face in his shoulder. Oh, how I’ve missed this .
My stomach chooses that moment to grumble loud enough to be mistaken for a nearby earthquake, and for the first time, I register the warm aroma of roasted chicken and garlic.
Bear chuckles. “Hungry?”
“Starved,” I agree, following him through the living room and into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
With every step deeper into the familiar old home, swarming with photos whitened with age and knickknacks that tell a lifetime of stories, my shoulders relax. For the first time since I stepped foot on the BSU campus, I’m at peace.
No roommate confrontations.
No teammate glares.
No whispers hidden behind hands as I walk through campus.
A roast chicken is cooling on the counter, two plates, a pitcher of water, and a bowl of mashed potatoes so big I think he’s forgotten it’s just the two of us, are set out on the table.
Bear’s house isn’t fancy, but it’s homey in a way I haven’t felt in years.
Bear’s been like family for as long as I can remember, and looking around the dated kitchen, I get caught up in memories of old.
Playing with the bubbles in the sink. Zooming around in the brand-new roller skates he bought me for my eighth birthday.
My gaze catches on the deformed figure of a unicorn drawn in red pen on the wall beside the table, and a laugh rips out of me.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” I tell him, pointing to the drawing I naughtily drew on the wall instead of on the perfectly acceptable piece of paper I was given alongside some crayons when I was five. “Haven’t you ever repainted in here?”
Bear simply grins, glancing toward the crude drawing as he loads up our plates.
“Like I’d ever paint over such a masterpiece.
For all I know, it could be worth a fortune one day.
The primitive artwork of a five-year-old Dylan Callahan, NHL All-Star champ,” he states as though reading a news headline.
I snort, but my cheeks flush anyway. It’s been a while since anyone had such confidence in me. Since anyone believed my ridiculously far-fetched dreams could ever possibly be a reality. It’s bittersweet.
Plus hearing my dad’s last name alongside mine.
The hope that one day I can skate onto the ice beneath the heat of the spotlights and be Dylan Callahan instead of Dylan Carter, my mom’s maiden name, is almost too much to bear.
I made the difficult decision to drop Callahan when I started college.
I wanted to be recognized for my talent—not the Callahan name.
Not my dad’s success. As much as I appreciate everything he has given me in life, including my talent, I want to carve my own path.
Want to be seen for who I am and what I’m capable of and not because I’m Patrick Callahan’s daughter.
Still, I wish it could be different. I wish I could honor his name every time I step out onto the ice.
Someday , I promise .
“This looks amazing,” I tell Bear, changing the subject as I move to take my seat at the table.
He sits down opposite, and we pile food on our plates.
We keep the conversation light, easy, while we eat.
He asks me about my classes, and the workload, and if I’m juggling everything okay.
All the questions a concerned parent would ask, and while each one fills me with warmth at the reminder that someone still cares, it also inflicts a stabbing pain in my chest every time.
“How are things between you and the team?” he eventually asks, clearing his throat. I wondered when we’d get round to talking about the team. I sense he’s been dying to ask that since I walked through the door, and I have to give him credit for holding back for this long.
“As expected,” I respond vaguely with a nonchalant shrug.
“That standoff with Reed the other day…”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I assure him, unable to meet his eyes as I wave his concern away.
I can feel his sharp stare on me, though. “Are you sure? ’Cause I can?—”
“You can’t do anything,” I interrupt, tone soft to ease the blow of my words. “It’ll only make me look weak if you step in. Like I can’t fight my own battles.” I arch a brow, giving him a knowing look. “When we both know I can.”
That earns me a smile. “You’re the strongest person I know, D.”
Reaching over, I squeeze his hand resting on top of the table. “So have faith that I can handle this.”
Blowing out a breath, he reluctantly nods.
“I do, I do, it’s just…it was one thing to see what those old asshole teammates did to you on the ice, but it’s another to watch it going on behind the scenes.
To see it happening on my rink.” He shakes his head.
“The season hasn’t even started yet, and my tongue is at risk of falling off from the number of times I’ve had to bite it to keep my mouth shut. ”
I chuckle. “Well, that might actually earn me some brownie points with some of the guys if you can no longer chew their asses off.”
His lips lift in a semblance of a smile, but concern still swims in those wise, aged eyes of his. “Just keep an eye out for Kyle. He’s not going to be happy.”
Now that I’ve officially taken his starting spot.
Perhaps I should be more concerned about what he’ll do, but all I feel is smugness.
Maybe if he’d taken my advice and focused on his game instead of mine…
except I know that’s not true. Kyle could have dedicated every waking moment to hockey these past three weeks, and yes, it would have been a closer competition, but I still would have come out on top.
Kyle’s good, but he doesn’t have the raw talent to be the best. He doesn’t have the drive and determination necessary to succeed at this level of competition.
I suspect he’s not used to having to work for what he wants in life.
He was obviously good enough in high school to get a place on a college team, but college hockey is an entirely different arena.
The competition is fierce. It’s at this level that you distinguish those who have the talent, who are willing to put in the work and improve, from those who simply view hockey as a hobby.
If you don’t have the talent and the dedication, then you’re just not going to cut it on the first line. It’s as simple as that.
“You know,” Bear begins, setting down his fork and leaning back in his chair, the flicker of a memory softening the lines on his face. “I believe it was the challenges your dad faced in college that made him the resilient player he was.”
I pause mid-bite, surprised. Bear doesn’t usually talk about my dad’s struggles—just how talented he was, how dominant on the ice. The legend of him, not the man.
“Most of the kids I coach are carefree college students, spreading their wings for the first time and excited to sample everything life has to offer. But that wasn’t Patrick.
Even at eighteen, he was just a man—a dad—trying to make it work.
Trying to juggle you and classes and hockey.
Just wanting to be the best at everything all at once. ”
A lump forms in my throat. Of course, I know my mom and dad got pregnant with me in high school.
I always thought their love story was one fairy tales were created from.
There can’t be many high school sweethearts who end up accidentally pregnant and actually make it all the way—graduate college, dominate in their chosen career path, and somehow manage to love each other unconditionally.
They had the perfect life. The perfect love story…
Until they didn’t.
I lose myself to the overwhelming grief and regret and aching sadness that weighs on me constantly. Another battle I’m forever fighting to keep at bay.
“It was a different fight,” Bear says, dragging my mind back into his kitchen. “Your dad had different obstacles to overcome.”
Admittedly, I’ve never really thought about my dad that way. I know he worked his ass off, but the main memories I have of him are after college. I’ve never really thought about the fact that he had to fight for his place too. In my mind, he’s always just been…great.