Chapter 9 #2
Her mouth quirked up, like she could picture it. “Sounds about right.”
The memory pulled a smile from me, though something heavier stirred underneath, a weight pressing just out of reach.
What I didn’t say was that Shane was the reason I was still standing.
When things had started to spiral for me a couple years ago, after everything with my mom, and Kyle…
Shane didn’t let me disappear. Didn’t let me shut everyone out, even when I tried.
He’d shown up, called every damn day, kicked down a door or two when I refused to answer.
Sat with me in silence when I couldn’t talk.
Dragged me back onto the ice, even when the thought made me sick.
I owed him more than I’d ever admit out loud.
But I kept all that to myself, just giving another half-shrug. “Anyway, I ended up here with him after… after I left the NHL.” Forced out more like it…
Harper nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on me for a second too long, like she could sense there was more I wasn’t saying.
“Nina–”
“I try to stay out of whatever it is between him and Nina,” I added with a small grin, shifting the mood. “Those two could turn a bake sale into a blood sport.”
That drew a laugh out of her–light and surprised–and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I’ve only been here a few weeks and I can already feel the tension.”
“Best to just stay out of the crossfire.”
She nodded, still smiling.
Then Connor’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “MOM! It’s still kinda squishy in here!”
“It’s a complete disaster in there,” she admitted as she led me into the kitchen.
The moment I stepped in, I saw what she meant. Towels were scattered across the floor, soaking up whatever water they could. A bucket sat nearby, filled to the brim, and there was still a faint dampness in the air.
I couldn’t help it–I started laughing. The scene painted itself in my mind: Harper and Connor running around in a frenzy, water spraying everywhere like some slapstick comedy routine.
Harper stopped in her tracks, turning to look at me with a mock-offended glare. “What’s so funny?”
I tried to stifle the laughter, but it came out anyway. “I’m just picturing it. You and Connor running around like headless chickens, water shooting everywhere… sounds like something out of a sitcom.”
Her lips twitched, and then she was laughing, too, leaning against the counter as the sound bubbled out of her. “Oh, it was worse than you think,” she admitted. “I was soaking wet. Connor was screaming about ‘saving the LEGOs.’ It was absolute chaos.”
Connor’s head popped around the corner, his grin as wide as ever. “Mom got sprayed right in the face!”
Harper groaned, though the laughter still clung to her voice. She covered her face with one hand. “Thanks, Connor. I don’t think your hockey coach needed that visual.”
“At least it wasn’t boring,” I teased, leaning against the doorway with a grin.
“Boring would’ve been preferable,” she shot back, still smiling. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
As the laughter faded, I knelt by the sink, assessing the damage. The pipe was an easy enough fix–nothing I couldn’t handle.
Connor crouched beside me, his small face serious with concentration as he watched my every move like I was performing surgery. He was perched on his knees, elbows braced on the edge of the cabinet, his eyes wide with fascination.
“Hand me that wrench,” I said, nodding toward the tool sitting just out of reach.
Connor scrambled to grab it, his movements quick and eager. He placed it in my hand with a kind of solemn pride you’d expect from someone handing over a sword before battle. “Here you go, Coach.”
“Thanks, bud,” I replied, fighting back a grin at how seriously he was taking this.
Meanwhile, Harper was bustling around the kitchen, wrangling the chaos the burst pipe had left behind. She’d already gathered the soaking wet towels into a pile, tossing them into the laundry basket before grabbing another to wipe down the last puddles clinging to the floor.
The image of her on YouTube earlier, desperately trying to save the day with a DIY fix, popped into my head again, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Still think you missed your calling as a plumber?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ve already ordered a toolbelt and overalls,” she said with a mock seriousness, tossing the towel into the laundry basket.
Connor snickered at that, his face lighting up with amusement. His attention didn’t waver long from the task at hand. “What’s next, Coach? Do we need another tool?”
I chuckled, tightening the last bolt. “Nah, I think we’re just about done here. You’ve been a big help, though.”
Connor’s chest puffed up with pride, his shoulders straightening. “I told Mom I’d help you. Teamwork, right?”
“Exactly,” I said, giving him a playful nudge. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
His face broke into a wide grin, and for a second, I wondered if anyone had ever looked at me like that before–with so much admiration that it made my chest ache a little.
I ran a final check, turning the water on briefly to see if the fix held. No leaks. Relief settled in, and I climbed to my feet, wiping my hands on a rag.
When I glanced up, I caught Harper leaning against the counter, her arms crossed loosely as she watched us. Her face was soft, her expression warm, and something about the way her gaze lingered made my heart thud just a little harder.
Her eyes met mine and for a moment, the world shrank down to just this kitchen, just this little moment. Her and Connor. The scent of vanilla and the sound of laughter still echoing in the air.
“Well, the kitchen isn’t going to flood again–at least not today,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
Harper’s mouth curved into that smile that always got me, soft and genuine. “Thank you. Seriously, Ryan. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”
“You would’ve figured it out eventually,” I said, flashing her a grin. “Though I’m not sure Mrs. Knox’s tool stash could’ve handled another round of trial and error.”
Harper laughed again, her head tilting back as the sound filled the kitchen.
“Coach Ryan,” Connor said. “Can I show you my wrist shot? I’ve been working on it every day on the pond!”
I smiled, amused by his enthusiasm. “You’ve got a pond?”
He nodded eagerly. “Right in our backyard! It’s totally frozen now. You’ve gotta see it!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harper stiffen. Her smile faltered and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“I don’t think–” she started. “Ryan’s already helped us out enough today. We shouldn’t keep him.”
Connor’s shoulders drooped. “But Mom–”
“It’s okay,” I said gently, glancing at her. “I don’t mind.”
Harper’s eyes met mine, guarded but not cold. Searching. Measuring.
“I’m sure you don’t,” she said after a beat, her tone soft yet hesitant. She didn’t uncross her arms. “I just… we’ve already taken up so much of your time.”
“You haven’t,” I said quietly. “Really.”
She looked down, chewing her bottom lip for a second. Then exhaled through her nose.
Connor was still watching her, clutching his stick I hadn’t even seen him grab with hopeful eyes. “Please, Mom? Just for a few minutes.”
Harper didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned toward the back window, her jaw tight, her fingers tapping against her sleeve. Finally, she let her arms fall to her sides and nodded once–reluctantly.
“Fine. But I’m coming too.”
Connor whooped and raced off to grab his skates.
I grabbed my skates from the truck then followed them out the backyard into the crisp late-afternoon air.
The sun was dipping lower now, casting golden light across the snow blanketed yard.
A narrow path led down toward a grove of trees, and beyond it, the glint of ice shimmered faintly in the distance.
As we walked, Harper kept a few paces ahead. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her jacket, her head down. I didn’t speak. Just followed.
“Connor really has been working hard on this shot,” she said finally, her voice quiet.
I nodded. “I’m excited to see it.”
She didn’t look at me, but she slowed just enough that we were walking side by side now.
The trees parted, revealing the small pond nestled at the base of the yard. It wasn’t huge. It was frozen solid, though, the surface smooth and clean with just a few skates’ worth of tracks already etched in.
Connor plopped down on a wooden bench at the edge of the pond, his fingers moving quickly to lace up his skates. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, his grin wide and confident. “You’re going down,” he said, his voice full of determination.
I laughed, taking a seat next to him to tie my own skates. “Oh, is that so?” I teased, grabbing my stick and giving it a little twirl. “We’ll see about that, champ.”
As soon as my skates were laced, Connor was on the ice, gliding out with the ease of a kid who’d spent countless hours practicing. I followed, feeling that familiar rush as my blades hit the smooth surface.
After he showed me his wrist shot, we spent the next twenty minutes playing one-on-one, skating back and forth, firing shots at imaginary nets.
Connor was quick, his movements full of youthful energy and surprising skill.
I could tell he’d been practicing, and he was good–really good.
I had a few tricks up my sleeve too, moves perfected over years of training, and I wasn’t above using them to keep him on his toes.
“No fair!” Connor shouted, laughing as I slipped the puck between his skates and scooped it up on the other side.
“All’s fair in pond hockey,” I called back, grinning as I circled him, dodging his attempt to steal the puck. His laughter echoed across the frozen pond, clear and bright, and for a moment, everything felt simple.
I was mid-turn, puck on my stick, when movement caught my eye.
Harper.