CHAPTER FIVE #2
Palisade followed behind us, and when I glanced back at her, she was shaking her head, almost smiling.
Over the next hour, as we unpacked the Chinese food, Casey dominated the conversation.
She asked me questions about training, game strategy, my favorite plays, and which teammates I was closest to.
She knew every player on the team, their positions, their stats.
Impressive how much this kid knew about hockey.
"You and Beck are my favorites!" Casey said, gesturing with her chopsticks. "He wins the faceoff thingy and gets you the puck, and then BAM!" She made a shooting motion. "You score! You guys always win together!"
"That's exactly right," I said, genuinely impressed. "Most kids your age don't pay attention to that stuff."
"Grandpa Coach taught me," Casey said proudly. "He says I gotta learn the whole game, not just skating. So, he teaches me plays and stuff."
"Your grandpa's a smart man."
Casey beamed. Then, her expression turned shy. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you think… I mean, is it dumb for a girl to want to play hockey? Some kids at school say girls can't be good at hockey."
I glanced at Palisade, who was observing the exchange. Then I looked back at Casey.
"Those kids don't know what they're talking about. Some of the best hockey players I've ever seen have been women. You know Hilary Knight? Kendall Coyne Schofield? They're incredible. Gender doesn't matter. Passion and skill do. And from what I can tell, you've got plenty of both."
Casey's face lit up as if I'd given her the Stanley Cup. "Really?"
"Really. If hockey's your dream, chase it. Never let anyone tell you that you can't do something because you're a girl. That's their limitation, not yours."
She threw her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug that nearly knocked over my water glass.
"Thank you," she whispered.
When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. Palisade watched us with something like pride mixed with pain, but her expression shuttered before I could ask about it.
After dinner, Casey dragged me upstairs to show me her room, despite Palisade's protests about homework.
"Just five minutes!" Casey pleaded. "I want to show him my collection!"
Her room was a shrine to hockey. Shadow Wolves pennants on the walls. A poster of the team above her desk. There was a carefully organized shelf of hockey cards, pucks, and memorabilia.
And in the corner, a full set of hockey gear that looked well-used.
"This is impressive," I said, taking it all in.
"I practice every day," Casey said, pulling out a binder filled with what looked like hand-drawn plays.
"Grandpa Coach draws these for me! See, this is a power play.
The guys go here and here, and then someone shoots!
" She pointed enthusiastically at the diagrams, clearly proud even if she didn't fully grasp all the strategy yet.
"Your grandfather really knows his stuff," I said.
"He played in college. Never made it to the NHL, but he says that doesn't matter. What matters is loving the game and respecting it." Casey looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes. "Do you still love it? Even after… you know, the bad stuff?"
The question caught me off guard. Kids her age rarely understood nuance, didn't know how to ask the hard questions.
"Yeah," I said honestly. "I do. Even when I mess up, even when I'm angry at myself, I still love the game. It's the one place where everything makes sense."
"That's how I feel, too," Casey said quietly. "Sometimes kids are mean at school, or I don't understand my homework, or I miss my dad…" She paused, then continued quickly. "But when I'm skating, none of that matters. It's just me and the ice and the puck."
Her dad.
The words hung in the air. Holly had mentioned Palisade had a daughter, but she'd never said anything about a partner. Never mentioned Casey's father at all. I'd assumed Palisade had moved on with someone else after our night together, but now…
Where was he? And why wasn't he here?
"That's exactly it." I kept my voice steady, filing the questions away for later. "Hockey's pure. You put in the work, you get results. Simple as that."
"Except when you make mistakes," Casey said.
"Especially when you make mistakes. That's when you learn the most." All my mistakes flashed through my mind. But so did Casey's words.
I miss my dad.
A kid this obsessed with hockey, and her father wasn't around to see it? To teach her? To watch her practice in the driveway?
Where the hell was he?
She cocked her head, her fist under her cheek as if considering my words. "Did you make a lot of mistakes when you were learning?"
"Tons. Still do." I thought about the reporter, the accident, the rage that had defined too much of my life. "Big ones. Small ones. Every kind of mistake you can imagine."
"But you kept going, right? Even when you made mistakes?"
"Yeah. I kept going."
"That's what makes you great," Casey said simply. Then she looked up at me with shining eyes. "Do you really think I could be a hockey player someday? Like a real one?"
The question hit me harder than expected. So much hope in her voice, so much determination.
"I think you could be anything you want to be," I said honestly. "But if hockey's your dream? You've definitely got the passion for it. That's the most important part. Talent matters, but passion separates good players from great ones."
"Really?"
"Really."
Casey's smile could have lit up the entire house.
"Casey, homework!" Palisade called from downstairs.
"Coming!" Casey carefully closed her binder, treating it like a sacred text. "Will you come back sometime? Maybe you could teach me some stuff?"
"I'd have to ask your mom first."
"She'll say yes," Casey said confidently. "She's been way happier this week. Aunt Holly says it's because you're working at the clinic, even though Mom pretends to be annoyed about it."
Before I could process that information, Casey gave me a quick, fierce hug and then ran out of the room toward her homework.
I sat there staring at the poster of myself above her desk. The team pennants, the carefully organized collection.
This kid's entire room was a shrine to hockey.
To me.
And somewhere, there was a father who was missing all of this.
Who wasn't here to see his daughter's passion, her dedication, her dreams.
What kind of man walked away from a kid like Casey?
"You okay?"
I turned to find Palisade in the doorway. Her arms were crossed as if protecting herself.
"Yeah. She's really something." I hesitated. "Casey mentioned her dad earlier. I didn't realize—"
"It's complicated." Palisade's voice went tight, guarded. "And not something we need to get into."
The wall went up so fast I could hear it slam into place.
"Right. Sorry. None of my business."
"It's not that." She looked away, biting her lip. "It's just… complicated."
"I didn't know she was such a big fan."
"The biggest. She watches every game, knows every stat, and practices in the driveway for hours." Palisade's tone gentled. "Hockey's her entire world."
"She's got a genuine talent for understanding the game. The way she talks about strategy, team dynamics… that's not something you can teach. She gets it."
"She gets it from my father." Palisade moved to straighten the poster that was already perfectly straight. Smiling, she added, "He's been teaching her since she was three."
We stood there in silence, surrounded by images of my team, my career, my face.
"I should go," I said. "Let you guys have your evening."
"Easton." She turned to face me. "Thank you. For coming here, for apologizing, for being so good with Casey. I know I was harsh earlier—"
"You had every right to be."
"Maybe. But you didn't have to come here and make it right. You could have let it blow over." She paused. "That means something."
"I'm trying to be better. For a lot of reasons."
Something passed between us, something I couldn't name.
"Come on," she said. "I'll walk you out."
We headed downstairs. Casey was already at the kitchen table, homework spread out in front of her.
"Bye, Uncle Easton!" she called. "Come back soon!"
"I'll try," I said, and meant it.
At the door, Palisade stopped me.
"The answer's yes, by the way."
"What?"
"If you want to teach Casey some hockey stuff. On your own time, not during clinic hours. Maybe Saturday mornings when I have the clinic open." She crossed her arms. "We'd need clear boundaries, a schedule, all of that. But if you're serious…"
"I'm serious."
She nodded. "Okay then. We'll work out the details."
"Thank you, Palisade. Really."
"Don't make me regret this," she said, but she was almost smiling.
I walked to my car, Casey's voice calling from the window, "See you Saturday!"
As I drove away, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight. I'd come to apologize for a media circus, and I'd left with permission to teach a six-year-old hockey. A kid who looked at me as if I hung the moon.
A kid with my eyes and my passion for the game.
A kid whose father was nowhere to be found.
It's complicated, Palisade had said. That wall slammed up when I'd asked. The way she'd looked away, uncomfortable.
What was so complicated about it?
I should have felt good about tonight. Casey's enthusiasm, Palisade's forgiveness, the Saturday lessons. All of it should have felt like a win.
So why did it feel like I was missing something important?