Chapter 49 Ryan
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the rink as I laced up my skates.
The hum of activity around me had become as familiar as breathing–the kids’ voices shouting encouragement, pucks clattering against the boards, and the rhythmic scrape of blades on ice.
We were at the Port Camden Arena, a good four hours from Brookhaven.
Six weeks. Six weeks of sweat, drills, and more hockey than I thought I’d be a part of again after leaving the NHL. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.
The coaching staff here was exceptional–dedicated, passionate, and full of the kind of energy that made even the hardest days enjoyable.
We spent hours together every day, planning drills, running practices, and strategizing for the upcoming season.
Despite the intensity, I hadn’t gotten tired of any of them.
It felt like being on a team again, a feeling I hadn’t realized I missed so much.
It wasn’t just about the staff, either. The kids were incredible–hardworking, eager to learn, and more talented than they even knew. Watching them improve day by day, seeing their confidence grow, was its own reward. We had some as young as fifteen at the camp, all the way to twenty-five.
One kid, Tyler, reminded me a little of myself at his age–quiet but determined, always watching, always learning.
He’d been struggling with his slap shot when I arrived, and last week, he finally nailed it perfectly in a scrimmage.
The grin on his face afterward? Worth every second I’d spent working with him.
Still, no matter how fulfilling the work was, there was a hollow space inside me that no amount of coaching could fill.
Connor.
We FaceTimed almost every night, the highlight of my evenings.
He’d sit cross-legged on his bed, grinning into the screen as he told me about his day.
School had started a couple of weeks ago, and he couldn’t stop talking about his new teacher, Mrs. Franklin, who apparently let them have extra recess if they did their math homework without complaining.
“And guess what, Ryan?” he’d said last week, his green eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hockey’s started up again!”
“Yeah?” I leaned closer to the screen, smiling. “You ready to show them all your new moves?”
Connor nodded enthusiastically. “Shane says I’ve been working hard over the summer, and wants to try me on right wing this year!”
I laughed, remembering the many arguments Shane and I had about the best position for Connor last season. Shane always wanted to try him out on the right wing.
“You’d make a great right winger, bud. Just remember–keep your head up, watch the play, and support your teammates. That’s the most important thing.”
“Like you always tell me,” he said with a grin.
Those calls were everything. He’d talk about school, his friends, and hockey, and for a little while, it felt like I was still there–still a part of his life. Still, every time we hung up, the ache of missing him grew sharper.
And Harper…
We had spoken. Not often, not deeply, but enough that I couldn’t stop hoping.
She texted me almost every day. Sometimes it was about Connor–what time his game was, how school was going, how he’d insisted on wearing mismatched socks because apparently, that was his “thing” now.
Other times, it was something small, something that felt just a little like the way we used to be.
A comment about a show we both watched. A picture of Benny’s latest creation from the bakery–some Frankenstein-like pastry that should’ve been a crime against food–with a caption: he’s finally lost it.
And when Connor called, she didn’t just hover in the background anymore.
She’d stay after he said goodnight, lingering on the screen like she wasn’t ready to hang up either.
Some nights, it was just a quick How was your day?
Or You look tired. Are you sleeping okay?
The other night, we talked until the silence between us grew too heavy, too full of everything we weren’t saying.
It felt like she was letting me back in.
Not all the way, though.
And from four hours away, I had no idea how to bridge that last bit of distance.
I’d been really hoping that when she called after me as I was leaving, it was to ask me to stay. If she had, I would have. No hesitation. But she didn’t. And now I was here, trying to figure out what the hell to do.
The head coach, Jeff, had sat me down earlier today, practically buzzing with excitement. He wanted me to take a permanent position. Full-time.
“You’re a natural,” he’d said, his face lit up. “The kids respond to you like they’ve known you forever. We’d be lucky to have you long-term.”
It was an incredible opportunity–one most people would kill for. And if Harper and Connor weren’t in the picture, I wouldn’t have hesitated. They were, though.
And they were everything.
If Harper ever gave me the chance to be part of their lives again, I’d take it over this in a heartbeat. But from here, I couldn’t tell if that was even a possibility. And I couldn’t wait around forever, hoping she’d change her mind.
I sighed, leaning back on the bench, watching the kids skate around the ice, laughing and shouting as they practised their drills. This life? It was good. It was steady and fulfilling in ways I hadn't expected.
It wasn’t Harper, though.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her–her laugh, her sharp green eyes, the way she scrunched her nose when she was pretending to be annoyed. God, I missed the way she used to look at me when she was happy, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
And then there were the nights. The way she fit against me, soft and warm, her breath hitching when I kissed her neck.
The way she whispered my name in the dark, her voice thick with sleep and something else, something I’d never deserved.
I could still see her, down on her knees, staring up at me with those piercing eyes, her mouth soft and warm against me–
I clenched my jaw, pushing the thought away before it could take hold.
Now wasn’t the time to be thinking like that.
What I needed was to see her. In person. To stop analyzing texts and phone calls and the way she lingered just a second too long before hanging up. To look her in the eyes and finally figure out where we stood.
I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a long breath. Two weeks. I had two weeks to decide if this was the life I wanted.
But the truth was, the decision wasn’t about hockey. It was about Harper.
Kyle and I sat in the corner booth of our favourite spot, a cozy bar-and-grill a few blocks from the rink.
It was one of those places with dim lighting, mismatched furniture and a menu full of greasy food that somehow hit the spot every time.
The smell of char-grilled burgers and fried onions filled the air, and the sound of clinking glasses and muted laughter buzzed in the background.
We’d made it a habit–once a week, just the two of us. A break from the chaos of training camp and the constant demands of coaching.
“So,” Kyle said, leaning back in the booth and sipping his beer. “You gonna take the job or what?”
I sighed, poking at my plate of fries with my fork. “I don’t know, man. It’s not that simple.”
Kyle tilted his head, watching me. “I mean, it kind of is. You’re great at this, the kids love you, and it’s a solid opportunity. But I’m guessing this isn’t really about the job.”
I hesitated, swirling my beer bottle on the table. “You know what it’s about.”
Kyle exhaled, nodding. “Harper?”
I shot him a look, expecting some smart-ass remark, but his expression was surprisingly understanding.
“Look, man,” he said, setting his beer down. “I get it. She’s it for you. And if there’s even a chance she feels the same, I’d hate to see you let this job–or the distance–be the thing that keeps you apart.”
I ran a hand through my hair, staring down at the condensation pooling on the table. “It’s just… hard to figure it all out from four hours away, you know? I don’t even know where we stand half the time.”
Kyle shrugged. “Then maybe you need to see her. In person. Talk to her. Because if you’re sitting here turning down a damn good job just in case she wants to work things out, that’s not fair to you. Or her.”
I sighed, because he wasn’t wrong. And as much as I wanted to believe that things were slowly shifting with Harper, I needed to know before making any decisions.
Before I could say anything, Kyle’s attention shifted. A blonde woman at the bar caught his eye, and he grinned, tilting his head in her direction.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
Kyle ignored me, waving her over like the shameless flirt he was. “You’ve got to admit, she’s cute,” he said under his breath, his grin widening as she approached.
I sighed, leaning back in the booth and crossing my arms. Kyle could never resist an opportunity to charm someone, and I’d never met a bigger ladies’ man in my life.
“Hi,” she said, smiling shyly as she stood at the edge of our table.
“Hey,” Kyle said smoothly, sliding over to make room for her. “I’m Kyle. This is my brooding friend, Ryan.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, her eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to Kyle.
I tuned out their conversation, pulling out my phone to check the time. Connor’s game had started an hour ago. I pictured him out there on the ice, his little legs pumping as he chased after the puck, his face lit up with determination and joy.
Last night he’d been practically vibrating with excitement when we talked.
“Ryan!” he’d said, bouncing on his bed. “We’re playing Westfield tomorrow. Remember them? The team with that kid who kept tripping everyone last season?”
I nodded, smiling. “I remember. You ready to take them on?”
Connor grinned. “Oh, yeah. Shane says we’ve got a good chance if we stick to our game plan.”
“Just keep your head up out there, bud,” I said. “And don’t let them get under your skin.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
My chest tightened at the memory, and I hoped he was having a great game.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced down at the screen, expecting maybe a text from Shane with an update.
But it wasn’t Shane.
It was Nina.
A strange, ugly feeling twisted in my gut. Nina never called me.
Something was wrong.
I swiped to answer. “Nina?”
Her voice was frantic, the words tumbling over each other in a panicked rush. “Ryan–oh my God–Connor–he’s hurt–hit–ambulance.”
The world tilted. My body froze, and I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles ached. “Nina,” I said sharply, my voice cracking. “Take a breath. Tell me what the hell is going on.”
A shaky inhale, then her voice again–still trembling but more measured now. “We were playing Westfield. You know that team, right? The one with the kid who–who kept going after Connor last season?”
“Yeah,” I said tightly, every muscle in my body coiled.
“They were at it again. Cheap shots all game. And then–” She swallowed hard. “One of their players hit Connor from behind. Hard. He went headfirst into the boards.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. The blood drained from my face. My chest constricted, making it impossible to breathe.
“He wasn’t moving, Ryan,” Nina continued, her voice cracking. “He just… laid there. We called the ambulance, and by the time they got there, he was talking–but he said his neck hurt. A lot. They put a brace on him, got him on the stretcher–”
I couldn’t process the words. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
“Ryan?” Nina’s voice pulled me back. “Did you hear me?”
I forced air into my lungs, though it felt like breathing through a straw. “Yes,” I croaked. “Where is he?”
“They took him to the hospital. The one in Valleyway.” A beat of silence, then softer, “I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you,” I said automatically, my voice flat and distant.
I hung up without another word, my hand trembling as I lowered the phone.
Kyle was staring at me now, concern etched into his face. “Everything okay?”
“No.” My voice was hollow. “It’s Connor. I have to go.”
He started to say something, but I was already on my feet, throwing cash on the table and grabbing my keys.
The world blurred as I ran to my truck, Nina’s words echoing in my head. Hit. Boards. Neck brace. Stretcher.
Connor.
I slammed the door and started the engine, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Four hours. I was four hours away.
Panic clawed at my chest, suffocating and relentless.
“Please be okay,” I whispered, my voice breaking “Please, Connor. Just be okay.”