Chapter 8 #3
“Special lattes?” I asked, raising a brow.
“Baileys, Kahlua, you name it,” Heather said with a wink. “You’ll need it for some of these tournaments. Trust me.”
Nina muttered under her breath, “You’ll also need it to deal with Shane if you’re around him too long.”
Rachel’s head snapped up, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Shane? Our Shane? What did he do?”
Nina waved her off, her smile tight. “Oh, nothing. Just being his usual charming self.”
The moms erupted into laughter, but I could tell Nina was only half joking.
“Well, Harper,” Miranda said, giving my arm a gentle squeeze, “we should get going. We will see you next practice, though, and get you set up in our group chat!”
They all said their goodbyes and soon as they were out of sight, Nina turned to me, smirking. “Welcome to the wild world of Brookhaven hockey moms. They’re… something, huh?”
“They seem… nice.” I said, hesitantly.
Nina barked out a laugh. “Nice, sure. Also overwhelming, nosy, and borderline chaotic… You’ll get used to them.”
“Will I?” I muttered, half to myself, as I glanced toward the dressing room.
Connor came bursting out, his hair still damp and sticking up in every direction, cheeks flushed with excitement. His grin was wide enough to light up the entire rink as he sprinted toward me.
“Mom! Did you see me out there?” he exclaimed, nearly tripping over his untied shoelaces in the rush.
I laughed, catching him before he could barrel into me. “Of course, I did,” I said, crouching down to his level. “You were amazing, buddy.”
Connor practically glowed at the praise, rocking on his heels. “And did you see when I passed the puck to Liam? He almost scored, too!”
“I saw everything,” I said, brushing some hair off his forehead. “You’re a natural out there.”
Nina’s phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen, her expression shifting. “I’ve got to take this. Be right back,” she said, her voice apologetic as she walked away.
I watched Nina disappear around the corner, my hand resting on Connor’s shoulder as I adjusted his jacket, fingers smoothing down the fabric in a familiar rhythm. Just something to keep my hands busy.
A shadow stretched across the floor beside us, and I jumped before I could stop myself. My heart jolted. It was just skates on the rubber flooring.
I looked up–and there he was.
Ryan stood a few feet away, his posture relaxed, hands loose at his sides, that same quiet confidence wrapped around him like a well-worn hoodie. This time, though, his smile was gentler. Softer. Still, I felt my spine straighten.
“Connor,” he said, nodding in greeting before crouching slightly to meet my son’s eyes. “You crushed it out there. That shot? Textbook. And the way you hustled back on defense? That’s the kind of teamwork we need.”
Connor lit up. “Really?”
“Really,” Ryan said with a slight grin, holding out his fist.
Connor bumped it enthusiastically, and the pride in his face made my chest tighten.
Then Ryan’s gaze shifted–briefly–to the coffee cup in my hand before lifting to meet mine.
I stiffened slightly, trying to steady my voice. “I, um… won’t spill this one.”
It was meant to be light, maybe even funny, but it came out a little flat.
Ryan’s smile tugged wider. “That’s a shame,” he said, tone easy. “I thought I really pulled off the coffee-stained look.”
I offered the faintest smile. “Maybe next time.”
He chuckled–low and genuine–and turned his attention back to Connor. “You’ve got a great kid.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks,” I said, quieter than I intended. “He… he really loves hockey.”
Ryan’s eyes crinkled slightly, his voice calm and sincere. “It shows. He’s got drive–and he listens. That’s a good combination.”
I nodded, unsure what else to say. My tongue felt too big in my mouth, and I hated the way I was gripping my coffee like a lifeline. There was something about the way he looked at me that made me feel… seen, in a way I hadn’t been in years.
Connor thankfully stepped in. “Coach Ryan, can you show me that trick again? With the wrist shot?”
Ryan’s whole face lit up. “Absolutely. But only if you promise to practice it at home.”
Connor bounced on his toes. “Deal!”
Ryan laughed, the sound warm and rich. His eyes crinkled in the corners, the kind of smile that reached all the way up and made him look younger, more carefree. My heart did a ridiculous little flip, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded when–
“Coach Ryan!”
Liam’s voice shattered the moment, and we both turned as the boy jogged over, all boundless energy and wide eyes. “I was telling Connor that you used to play in the NHL! Can you tell us what it was like?”
The change in Ryan was subtle but immediate. His shoulders stiffened, the easy smile faltering just long enough for me to catch it before he covered it with a laugh.
“Well,” he said, scratching his beard with feigned nonchalance, “let me tell you–it's nothing compared to the pressure of coaching you guys.”
Liam and Connor burst into laughter, completely buying the deflection, but my eyes were fixed on Ryan.
His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening for just a split second before he forced another smile.
There was a tension in his posture that hadn’t been there before, his body just a bit too rigid.
“Alright, boys,” Ryan said, his voice overly bright as he clapped his hands together. “Practice is over. Go home, get some rest, and come back ready to work even harder next time. We’ll go over that wrist shot then.”
The boys took off, their laughter echoing through the rink as they chattered about ice cream and video games.
Connor’s blond hair bounced beneath the hood of his jacket, his cheeks still flushed from practice.
Beside him, Liam–taller, with a mess of chestnut curls and a mischievous glint in his eye–grinned wide as he animatedly waved his arms, mimicking a slapshot mid-story.
Ryan gave me a small nod, his expression unreadable now. Guarded. Then he turned and walked toward his office, his shoulders just a little too stiff, his steps a little too quick.
I watched him go.
The air felt colder without him next to me. I shivered, rubbing my arms as I made my way to the exit.
Outside, the evening had settled into a quiet chill. Streetlights cast a golden glow onto the icy pavement. Nina waited near her car, arms folded and breath curling white in the air.
She didn’t say anything–just raised an eyebrow as I approached.
I gave her a half-smile.
She pushed off the door with her shoulder, unlocked the car, and climbed in as we said our goodbyes.
I followed suit, but not before casting one last glance back at the rink doors.
My chest was tight with things I didn’t have the space–or safety–to name. So I inhaled. Exhaled. And let the cold air swallow the feeling whole.