Chapter 32 Finn
FINN
HOME ISN’T EASY
East-West Play: It’s a passing or skating move where the puck moves laterally (from one side of the ice to the other). Often used to create scoring chances by pulling defenders and the goalie out of position. Especially common on power plays or odd-man rushes.
I don’t know what I expected from Pine Hollow, but it wasn’t this. Kate didn’t make a lateral move when she left this sleepy town. Nope. She massively scaled up.
The town’s barely more than a gas station, two diners, and a handful of run-down shops that all seem to sell the same dusty antiques no one’s buying. The streets are cracked, the sidewalks uneven, and every damn person we pass stares like they’re seeing a ghost.
Or worse.
They know exactly who I am. I suppose I should have driven an economy car from the airport, as the Bentley is overkill here.
Kate’s been quiet the whole drive. I’ve never seen her so quiet. She sits with her arms crossed around her knees, tucked under her chin, like she’s sitting on her old bed, and she stares out the window.
If she could make herself disappear, I think she would.
I’m sure it’s nerves about seeing her mamma. Maybe she’s embarrassed to bring me here.
She shifts in the passenger seat as we pull up in front of the small, weather-worn trailer at the edge of town. “You don’t have to say anything tonight,” she mutters, barely looking at me.
“I won’t,” I promise, my voice low and steady.
But I can already tell I’m going to want to.
Her mamma’s waiting outside before we even kill the engine—leaning against the front steps, cigarette dangling from her fingers, her sharp eyes already sizing me up.
Kate groans under her breath. “God.”
“Relax,” I murmur, squeezing her hand before she can pull away. “I’ve been in worse locker rooms than this.”
She lets out a weak laugh and gives me a warm look before we climb out, and her Mamma’s voice cuts through the air.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she drawls, flicking ash off the side of the steps. “Little Miss Fancy Singer and her hockey player.”
“Mamma,” Kate warns under her breath.
I smile, polite but unreadable, and offer my hand. “Ma’am.”
She looks at it like it’s a joke—but after a beat, she takes it, shaking with a grip meant to intimidate.
“Didn’t think you’d bring him here, Katie,” she says, giving Kate a pointed look.
Kate flushes, jaw tight. “We’re just visiting.”
“Uh-huh.” Mamma’s gaze slides back to me, eyes sharp as glass. “You got deep pockets, don’t you, Mr. Callahan?”
Kate’s face goes scarlet. “Mamma—”
I don’t flinch.
“Depends who’s asking,” I say smoothly, meeting her stare head-on.
Her mamma lets out a barking laugh, clearly not expecting me to hold my ground.
Kate looks like she wants the earth to swallow her whole.
Before the tension can stretch further, the door creaks open, and a younger voice calls out, “Kate?”
A boy steps outside—maybe sixteen or seventeen. He has some muscle on his body, but he’s tall and thin, with shaggy hair and a sharp, guarded expression that softens the moment he sees his sister.
“Jack.” Kate’s whole face shifts, her voice warmer, lighter. Her brother hugs her, and his eyes land on me.
Jack grins, “Hi.”
I can read his face. It says: Finn Callahan—the hockey guy.
“This is Finn,” she says, a little stiff. “Finn, my brother Jack.”
I offer my hand again. Jack takes it. He has a tight grip, and it’s respectful.
“I started to watch old hockey games,” he mutters, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “How do you guys look this year?”
Kate’s eyes widen, caught off guard, but I grin.
“Depends if we can stay healthy,” I answer, the weight in my chest easing just a little. “You following the team?”
Jack shrugs, but there’s a spark in his eyes. “I started watching last season. Been counting down to opening night.”
“Well,” I say, relaxing into the moment, “we’ll see if we can give you something to cheer for. You’ll have to come visit us. I’ll buy you tickets to a game.”
Jack actually smiles, and just like that, the mood shifts.
Kate watches us, stunned, while I ask Jack about his favorite players, and he throws stats at me like he’s been waiting his whole life for this conversation.
Even Mamma watches with a glint of reluctant amusement, though she doesn’t stop smoking.
I know this isn’t easy for Kate. I can feel it in the way she fidgets; hell, she’s uncomfortable in her own home.
Later that night, I take them all out to dinner.
It’s nothing fancy—this town doesn’t have anything close to fancy—but there’s a steakhouse on the edge of Main Street, one of those places where everyone knows everyone, and the portions are big enough to shut people up for a while.
Kate’s stiff at first, arms crossed tight as we sit down. Her mamma orders the most expensive thing on the menu without blinking, and Jack’s too busy scanning the room to notice anything else.
I don’t intrude on their lives by asking them a multitude of questions. I keep the conversation easy, letting Jack lead. He’s young, but sharp—and once I get him talking about hockey again, the kid lights up like Christmas.
I ask him about school, about his favorite players, about his fantasy hockey picks—he’s surprisingly opinionated for sixteen.
When the plates are cleared, and Mamma’s halfway through her third glass of cheap wine, I turn to Jack, casually, but with intent.
“You know,” I say, leaning back in my chair, “camp starts soon. Pre-season workouts and scrimmages. You should come up for a weekend before school starts.”
Jack’s eyes go wide, and Kate freezes, the fork halfway to her mouth.
“I could show you around the rink,” I add, keeping it low-key, but it would be nice to have him see where his sister lives. It would also give us a chance to get to know each other better. “I’ll introduce you to some of the guys.”
I can’t take him to the locker room, even during the season. The NHL has strict rules regarding this due to liability concerns. I don’t know if they think we’ll be playing with our dicks or what, but yeah, it’s all buttoned up like a presidential secret.
Jack’s face lights up, and then he stares at me, stunned. It’s as if no one has ever done anything nice for him before. And perhaps no one has.
“You serious?” Jack asks, his voice cracking slightly in disbelief.
I grin. “Yeah. It would be nice to have you around.”
Kate’s eyes flick to me, something soft creeping into her expression for the first time all night.
She doesn’t say anything right away—but I see the moment she starts to relax. Her shoulders loosen. She stops twisting the napkin in her lap. She looks at me like maybe—just maybe—I’m not the enemy here.
“Think about it,” I say, glancing at Jack again, then catching Kate’s gaze as it lingers on me a second too long.
And right then, I know exactly what I’m doing.
I’m not just winning over her brother. I’m showing her that we can be a family. And that it doesn’t matter where she came from or where her family lives, I’m not going anywhere.
Of course, her mamma made it crystal clear she wouldn’t mind a check in the mail—but I’m not here to play savior. Everyone knows that once you start handing out handouts, they have a way of never ending. I’m here for Kate. And Kate calls those shots.