Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DYLAN
The rink always smells the same the morning after a game; stale sweat and melting ice.
There’s something comforting about it. Even when everything else is spinning, this place stays the same.
The whirr of the overhead lights. The hum of the Zamboni doing its slow crawl across the surface.
The faint echo of skates from the early birds doing drills.
It’s supposed to be a day of rest and recuperation, but that’s not in my nature. The need to stay on top is real, and runs bone deep with me.
Jonno’s gonna have my ass for it. He’s been on my case for months, muttering about load management and overuse injuries and how I’m not invincible just because I had one good night on the ice. He’s not wrong, but staying still’s not in my DNA.
I’m stretching on the mats by the boards when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my hoodie. I know it’s her before I even answer.
“Hey, Mum.”
“You looked sharp last night.” Her voice crackles slightly over the line, cheap mobile signal from the old house, no doubt. “That pass on the power play? Slick as anything.”
I grin, wiping sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my hoodie. “You watched?”
“Course I did,” she scoffs. “Wouldn’t miss it. I had to mute the commentators though. That one with the smug voice sounds like he’s never played a sport in his life.”
“Reynolds,” I mutter. “Guy’s allergic to saying anything nice about me.”
“You were the best player on the ice, and he still managed to make it sound like you were a liability.” She pauses. “But I saw you. That smile when you skated past the bench... looked like you were flying.”
My chest tightens a little. “Felt like it. First time in a while.”
There’s a beat of quiet. Just her breathing and the faint whistle of a kettle in the background.
“Mum,” I say, shifting forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “I want you to come down. For a game. I’ll book the flight, and pick you up from the airport. You can stay with me for a few days. No arguments this time.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, and for a second, I think the line dropped.
“Mum?”
“I don’t want to be in the way.”
I laugh, soft and exasperated. “You’re not in the way. You never are. Look, I get that you like watching from home, but it’s not the same. I want you there. In the stands. Cheering, throwing a program at some kid who boos too loud, like you used to.”
“I’m not as agile as I was back then.”
“You’re still a menace,” I say fondly. “Please. Let me fly you down. Let me do this.”
She sighs. “I’ll think about it.” Which, from her, is basically a yes.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“You looked happy,” she says, quieter now. “Happier than I’ve seen in ages.”
I don’t answer that. I don’t know how. Because I was happy, in a way that snuck up on me. And a big part of that had nothing to do with the puck or the scoreboard.
Mia’s face flashes behind my eyes; her dry smirk, the soft brush of her leg against mine under the table at the pub. That look she gave me when she said, You were enough tonight. Like she meant it. Like she saw something in me I’m still trying to acknowledge is there.
“I’ll call you later,” I say instead. “Love you.”
“Love you too, D.”
I hang up and let the phone sit in my palm for a moment, my thumb brushing over the edge. Then I tuck it away and go back to stretching. Or try to.
“Seriously, Dylan?” Jonno’s voice cuts through the air like a slap. I don’t even have to look to know he’s standing behind me with that clipboard and his usual scowl.
“You’re not cleared for on-ice today. It’s a rest day for the team. The schedule I gave you; remember that?”
I sit up, smirking. “Just stretching. Didn’t realise that was a crime.”
“It is when you’re supposed to be off your feet.”
He walks around in front of me, crouches slightly so we’re eye level. “You played hard last night. Great, even. But your shoulder’s still not one hundred percent, and that ankle’s got more tape on it than a Christmas present. You don’t push today, or you risk setting yourself back a month.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “I’m fine, Jonno. I swear.”
He gives me that look, the one that says, Don’t bullshit me, kid. I’ve seen it a lot since I joined the team.
“You always say that. But I see the tightness when you walk, the way you favour that left foot. I know you’re tough, Dylan. No one doubts that. But tough doesn’t mean stupid. You want to stay in the lineup? Then respect the process. That means recovery days too.”
I nod, even though part of me still itches to lace up and move.
“I know it’s hard to sit still,” he adds, a little softer. “But you’ve got nothing to prove today. You did the work. You showed up. Now let your body catch up.”
It’s weird how those words land. Because they sound almost like what Mia said. You were enough tonight. Maybe I don’t have to run myself into the ground to stay worthy of being here.
“All right,” I say. “You win. No ice. Happy?”
He raises a brow. “I’ll be happy when I don’t have to chase you off the rink like a bloody sheepdog.”
I grin, finally relaxing. “That’s fair.”
He heads off, muttering something about young hotheads and early graves, and I lay back on the mat, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling beams above.
The restlessness is still there, curling low in my gut as it always is. But something else too. A kind of quiet. Not peace exactly, but something close.
I don’t know what comes next with Mia. I don’t know if this thing between us is a slow burn or a car crash in the making. But I know I want to be there to find out. I want to be present. Not for the game, not for the crowd. For her. For myself.
The buzz of skates and the low murmur of coaches fills the air as drills begin on the other rink. It’s the junior league, they’re young and hungry for it. I close my eyes and let the sounds wash over me, not needing to be in motion for once. Just here. Breathing and healing.
Maybe Jonno’s right. Rest is part of the work.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to do it the right way.