Chapter Twenty-Three
SIDNEY
I barely made it.
Traffic was a full-out war. Some construction crew had apparently decided today, of all days, was the perfect one to tear up half the intersection outside the Nighthawks arena. My GPS kept rerouting so often it sounded like it was questioning its own life choices.
But I promised Joey I’d be here. And promises to that kid are non-negotiable.
I swing into the community rink parking lot, pull my cap low, and jog through the doors just as the first period is starting.
Cold air hits me instantly, and there is something else too.
That familiar, nostalgic bite of childhood rinks, where kids are always spilling in and out of locker rooms, parents clutching coffee cups like life rafts, and the buzz of preteen adrenaline gives the whole lobby a faint hum.
I scan the stands until I spot her.
Eddie. Hair tucked into a beanie. Hands wrapped around a travel mug. Eyes trained on the ice with laser focus. She glances down at her phone, and then her gaze flicks upward—and finds me.
And damn. The smile she gives me? I’d defend the net against fifty players just to earn that smile again.
I make my way up the steps, slipping into the seat beside her.
You made it, she whispers as she leans over and gives me a kiss. Her lips are cold, but instantly warm under mine.
Told you I would.
Her shoulder brushes mine a small, warm pressure that makes everything in me go quiet for a moment and settle.
Joey’s starting on wing, she says, nodding to the ice. They just finished the anthem.
Sure enough, the kid is buzzing around, tapping his stick against his teammates’, skates carving confident lines.
Look at him, I murmur, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. He’s dialled in.
You’ve inspired a steel-like focus for him on the ice. He’s getting a bit intense, Eddie says with a laugh.
That’s nothing. Wait until I spill all my strategies when it’s playoff time.
She snorts into her coffee thermos. You’re impossible.
And you’re smiling, I counter.
Only because my son is happy.
Uh-huh, I say, letting the tease linger. She bumps my shoulder again. I bump hers back.
The puck drops. Parents cheer. Skates clack. Kids swarm like tiny, caffeinated bees.
Joey plays hard. The kind of hard that comes from wanting to prove something, especially after the bad day he’d had earlier that week. I can see it in his stride—focused, determined, and a little too eager.
Relax your shoulders, kid, I mutter. Let the play come to you.
He can’t hear you, Eddie whispers.
Shh. I’m coaching telepathically.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again.
Five minutes in, Joey has already taken two shots, one wide and one swallowed by the goalie’s chest. He skates away, frustrated, but settles himself. Good. He’s learning. Short memory, move on.
And then, halfway through the period, it happens.
One of the defensemen clears the puck up the boards. Another kid chases it, trips over his own skates, and the puck slides out toward the neutral zone.
Right toward Joey. He snatches it and takes off like a shot.
My pulse spikes.
Come on, kid, I murmur. You’ve got this. Head up. Keep your feet moving.
Eddie is clutching her mug so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter.
Joey crosses the blue line. The defenseman in front of him hesitates. That leaves Joey with the opportunity he needs. He cuts left, pulls the puck with him, then snaps off a wrist shot. Perfect form.
The puck sails cleanly into the top corner of the net.
Eddie and I erupt, screaming Joey’s name. The parents surrounding us also cheer, and I watch with pride swelling in my chest as Joey spins toward the stands and salutes us. He lights up like he’d swallowed a star.
Hell yeah! That’s my boy! I yell before I can stop myself.
Eddie’s head whips toward me, eyes wide and glassy. Then she does something that steals my breath clean out of my body.
She kisses me. Right there. In the stands. In front of everyone.
A quick kiss, instinctive and joy-fuelled.
I cup her cheek gently, stopping the panicked spiral when she realizes what she’s done.
You never have to apologize for kissing me, I murmur.
Her face flushes. I didn’t even think. I just—
Good. I grin. Thinking is overrated.
She stares at me for a heartbeat.
Then she kisses me again, slower this time, drawing some hoots and hollers from the surrounding parents. All in good fun. My hand slides to the back of her neck. She melts into me, soft and certain and exactly where she belongs.
The game resumes. Joey skates past our section, tapping his stick against the glass, grinning so big I worry his face might split.
You know, Eddie whispers, leaning into me, you’re becoming a permanent fixture in our lives.
Yeah, I say, kissing her temple. I was hoping you’d finally notice.
She laughs, and the sound feels like forever.