Chapter 13 Ryan
The arena still buzzed from the game, the last few stragglers filtering out into the cold afternoon.
My head throbbed faintly from last night’s margaritas, and exhaustion that settled deep in my bones–though it had nothing to do with standing behind the bench.
Coaching took a different kind of toll. Less physical, more mental.
And after a game like that, with all the highs and lows, I felt wrung out all the same.
Maybe the tequila hadn’t been my best decision.
But none of that was what had my attention.
Harper stood in front of me, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing expression on her face.
“So,” she said, dragging out the word. “Did you happen to stop by my place before the game?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Why?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because someone shovelled my driveway. And my car.”
“Huh. Lucky you.” I reached over to adjust my sleeve, keeping my face impassive.
Harper sighed, the kind of exasperated sound that made it clear she wasn’t buying my act for a second. “Ryan.”
I shrugged. “Could’ve been anyone.”
“Right. Because it’s totally normal for a random Good Samaritan to shovel only my driveway.” She tilted her head, a small smirk creeping onto her lips. “Just admit it. It was you.”
I let the silence stretch for a beat longer than necessary before exhaling. “Fine. It was me.”
Her smirk softened into something else–something unreadable. She shifted on her feet, like she was debating whether or not to call me out further. Instead, she just shook her head. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I could’ve done it myself.”
“I know that, too.”
She let out a short laugh, rolling her eyes. “So then why?”
I shrugged again, this time not bothering to hide my smile. “Had some time before the game. Figured I’d help.”
Her eyes flicked over my face, searching for some kind of hidden motive. “You know, it’s okay to let me handle things on my own.”
“And it’s okay for you to let someone help once in a while.”
She huffed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I agreed easily. “But you’re still thanking me.”
She opened her mouth–probably to argue–but before she could, a blur of motion came barrelling toward her.
“Mom! Did you see me?!”
Connor. His face was still flushed from the game, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges. He skidded to a stop in front of Harper, eyes bright with excitement. “Did you see my shot? And when Coach Shane told me to block that pass? And when–”
“Woah, slow down,” Harper laughed, ruffling his hair. “I saw everything, and you were amazing.”
Connor beamed. “Really?”
“Really. You were all over the ice out there.”
His chest puffed up with pride, making it impossible not to grin.
“I think you might be giving Coach Shane a run for his money,” I said, grinning.
Connor turned to me, wide-eyed. “You really think so?”
Before I could answer, Shane walked up, still holding a clipboard, and clapped me on the back–just hard enough to make my lingering headache spike.
“Don’t go inflating his ego too much, Barzal. I’ve had enough competition in my career without a ten-year-old gunning for my titles.”
Connor beamed. “I wouldn’t take your titles, Coach. I’d take Ryan’s.”
Shane let out a sharp laugh. “Smart kid.”
Before I could fire back, Nina appeared beside Harper, arms crossed, one brow arched as she leveled Shane with a look.
“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You’re complaining instead of celebrating?”
Shane smirked, but something about the way he looked at her was… different. Less of his usual cocky banter, more something else. Softer. More careful. Like he was holding something back–like there was an entire conversation happening between them that no one else could hear.
Nina, usually quick with a sharp retort, only rolled her eyes and muttered, “Typical,” before turning toward Harper and Connor. Something was off. The usual fire in her voice wasn’t there. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Before I could dwell on it, Liam came bursting out of the dressing room, his hockey bag bouncing against his side as he struggled to adjust the strap over his shoulder.
“Did you guys see that game?!” he asked, his grin wide as he looked up at Nina.
“You were great out there, dude,” Nina said, already steering him toward the doors.
Connor trailed close behind, cheeks red from the post-game high. “That last goal was sick, Liam!”
As they started down the hall, Harper followed a step behind, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. That’s when something slipped from her coat pockets–black gloves.
I bent down and picked them up. “Hey, Harper,” I called, holding them out.
She stopped and turned, her eyes flicking to mine before dropping to the gloves in my hand. A piece of hair had fallen loose from her messy ponytail, and she tucked it back with a quiet breath.
“Oh,” she said, walking back a few steps. “Thanks.”
I handed them over. “No problem.” I hesitated, then added. “Last night was fun.”
Her lips curved, soft and genuine. “It was. You make some excellent popcorn. Kernel to M&M ratio was perfect.”
“Highly underrated skill. Not as good as Nina’s margarita’s though.”
That earned a real laugh from her, and I soaked it in.
“Harper!” Nina’s voice called from outside. “Unless you’re planning on walking, I’d get your butt in gear.”
Harper hesitated just a second longer, then gave me one last look before rolling her eyes and giving me a playful salute. “Duty calls.”
“See you later.”
As she was walking away, I heard her mutter under her breath, her voice barely audible, “Get it together, Harper. He’s your kid’s coach.”
A laugh bubbled up, surprising me with its lightness.
At least now I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling this.
I caught Shane, standing just a few feet away, watching Nina. His expression was unreadable, but the way he stood–shoulders tense, eyes locked on her–told me everything I needed to know.
Something had happened this morning. I didn’t know what, but Shane sure as hell did.
The second Nina and Harper were out of earshot, Shane shot me a look, brows lifted. “Really?”
I smirked, not bothering to humour him with a response. Instead, I crossed my arms and nodded toward the clipboard in his hands. “You checking game notes or just pretending to look busy?”
He exhaled through his nose, flipping a page without actually reading it. I gave it a beat before cutting to the chase.
“So… you want to tell me what the hell was going on outside Nina’s this morning?”
His hand stilled on the page–just for a second–before he turned it like I hadn’t said anything at all.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
I tilted my head, unimpressed. “Come on, man. You and I both know it wasn’t nothing.”
Shane let out a slow breath, finally lowering the clipboard and rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t look at me when he said, “Lily.”
The name sat heavy between us. It didn’t take much to piece it together–Nina’s sister.
“She’s been trouble her whole damn life,” Shane muttered, his voice rough with something that sounded a lot like frustration.
“Lying, manipulating–she’s always been like that.
Same way in high school. Didn’t matter who she hurt, as long as she got what she wanted.
” He shook his head, his jaw tight. “She had no business becoming a mom.”
There was no malice in his words, just blunt honesty.
“Liam’s lucky to have Nina,” he added after a beat, his voice quieter. “She’s basically raised him on her own. He’s a good kid because of her, not Lily.”
I watched him carefully–the way his shoulders tensed, the way he said Nina’s name like it meant something more. I’d known Shane a long time, and I’d never heard him talk about anyone like this before.
“Nina’s lucky to have you in her corner too, you know,” I said, keeping my tone easy.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Don’t make this a thing, Barzal.”
I held up my hands, grinning. “Not making it a thing. Just calling it like I see it. You’ve got her back, and that’s solid.”
He grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head as he flipped the clipboard shut. “Yeah, well, Nina’s not just anyone. She’s had to put up with more shit than most people, and Lily’s the worst of it.”
His tone had shifted–not just frustrated, but protective. Like he’d been in the trenches with Nina for a long time. And just like that, a puzzle piece clicked into place.
“Sounds like you’ve been in the middle of this for a while.”
Shane let out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.” He shook his head again, jaw tight. “I don’t know how Nina’s done as well as she has. She’s tough as nails, but…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply. “I worry about her.”
And there it was. The thing he hadn’t said outright, written all over him. Shane might act like a gruff, no-nonsense type, yet when it came to Nina, there was no hiding how much he cared.
I didn’t push any further. Shane had already given me more than I’d expected.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Anyway. That’s all there is to it.”
I nodded, letting the silence settle for a moment before clapping him on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I think Nina and Liam are both lucky to have you looking out for them.”
Shane shot me a look, one that was half warning, half something else. “Not a thing, Barzal.”
I smirked. “Not a thing.”
He shook his head, a twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying that he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he wanted to be.
We started toward the exit together, the arena quieter now that most of the team and fans had cleared out. The cold hit us the second we stepped outside, our breaths fogging in the crisp cold air.
Shane adjusted his coat, giving me a nod. “See you at practice Tuesday.”
I returned the nod. “See ya.”
Without another word, he turned and headed for his truck, shoulders still tense, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. I watched him for a second before heading toward my own truck, my mind still turning over everything he’d just told me.
Nina was tough, no doubt about that. But even the toughest people needed someone in their corner.
I was halfway to my truck when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Kyle’s name lit up the screen.
“Hey,” I answered, pulling the door open. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in,” he said. “Wanted to fill you in on practices this week.”
I leaned back against the doorframe, the cold biting my ears. “Sorry I wasn’t there. I figured I’d stick around here for Winterfest.”
There was a pause, and then the inevitable jab. “Winterfest or Harper?”
My brow furrowed. “How the hell do you know who Harper is–” I stopped, glancing across the lot toward Shane’s truck. His window was still fogged, his silhouette faintly visibly inside. Of course.
I exhaled through my nose. “Right. Shane.”
Kyle chuckled. “Were you ever gonna tell me about her?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I said quickly, brushing it off. “How’s the team looking?”
“Good. Really good. We’ve got a big one coming up here in a couple weeks. You gonna be there?”
“Of course.”
We ran through a few more updates before hanging up, but the second the line went dead, the familiar weight settled in my chest. Guilt.
Every time I missed a practice, I told myself it was fine–Kyle had it covered, the team was in good hands. I hated not being there, though. Hated feeling like I was letting them down. Letting him down.
And beneath that, deeper and sharper, was the guilt that never really went away. The one that had nothing to do with this week, or Winterfest, and everything to do with what happened to Kyle. That voice in the back of my head whispering that I owed him more than just showing up for a game.
I sat there for a moment, the steering wheel cold beneath my hands, before finally turning the key and heading out.