Chapter 26
SAWYER
The green room still hums like the game hasn’t fully let go of us yet. Sweat. Gatorade. That sharp, electric buzz that only comes after a win that actually matters.
Not just any win. Playoffs. We are in the playoffs.
Around me, the guys are laughing too loud, replaying goals that already happened like they can’t quite believe them.
Someone popped champagne as soon as we’d come off the ice, because it really would be rude not to.
I should be celebrating with them. I am, technically.
I clap backs. I grin. I let Campbell tackle me into a one-armed hug.
But even in the middle of it—noise, victory, the kind of adrenaline that makes you feel ten feet tall, I’m busy scanning the room.
Not for cameras. Not for management.
I’m looking for her. For them…because I swear I played that game for her tonight. For Theo.
Every shift, every hit, every second I chased that puck down the boards—I had them in my head.
Her on the balcony cheering, and Theo in his jersey, practically vibrating out of his seat.
I told myself if I could just put one in the net, if I could just make it count, I’d give them something they’d never forget.
Now the win is real. The scoreboard is final.
And the only person I’m looking for is Juliette. I keep my eye on the small crowd gathering around us, everyone wanting to celebrate the moment alongside us, and it’s not long before I spot them.
Theo first—his official Dominion jersey sleeves are pushed up, eyes are still bright, and he’s practically shaking with leftover adrenaline like he was the one on the ice.
Juliette is right behind him, calm on the surface, steady in a way that makes me wonder how much she’s carrying without saying it out loud.
Charlie and Vivian trail along, grinning like they’ve wandered into a place they’re not supposed to be and decided not to apologize for it.
Seeing them here, after a night like this, after that kind of win, does something unexpected to me. Grounds it. Sharpens it. Like all that noise and momentum finally have somewhere to land.
I catch Theo’s eye and his grin widens, like tonight just keeps getting better. Playoffs feel good. I do care about winning, that’s for sure. But this? This feels more like what I really need right now.
“Hey,” I say, dropping into a crouch in front of Theo. “You got your jersey.”
“It’s the best! I love it,” he says looking down at it. “It’s very cool.”
I may have just won that game out there, but inside here this is really winning. It was a good game, but he likes the jersey. I give his fist a bump as Juliette taps his shoulder.
“You got to see something special tonight, huh, Theo? You were giving us a play-by-play of Sawyer’s movements the whole game.”
“It was awesome,” he says, breathless. “Did you see when you did that thing, you ran into number 15 and he went down so hard—”
“I saw,” I say with a laugh. “Third period was wild, right?”
He nods hard, but there’s a hitch. Just a beat where the excitement doesn’t quite land the way it should.
My eyes flick up automatically, scanning their crew, taking human inventory.
No David?
Theo smooths the front of his jersey, rocking slightly on his heels. Still happy. Still buzzing. But quieter now. Like someone turned the volume down just a notch.
I straighten and look at Juliette. “Everything okay?”
She nods, stepping a little closer so Theo’s attention stays elsewhere. Her voice is soft, controlled.
“He didn’t make it,” she says. “He said he’d call. He didn’t.”
Something tightens in my chest. Anger.
I glance back at Theo, who’s suddenly very interested in a framed photo on the wall.
“He was excited,” Juliette adds. “He still is, but he’s a kid who has been disappointed. Again.”
I nod slowly. “As he would be.”
She exhales, the sound barely there. “I shouldn’t be surprised; I just don’t like it when he is.”
I meet her eyes, searching them. I can see in her reflection all the things she’s not saying. The moments she’s covered over the years, and done it with her head held high because she is all class. Cranky, but classy. My kind of woman.
It only takes a second for me to understand exactly what this moment is asking of me.
“Give me one minute,” I say.
“Sawyer—”
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, already backing away. “Don’t move.”
I turn before she can argue and head down the hallway, thoughts tripping over each other.
Equipment room. Youth skates.
The team keeps extras for player family skates, PR events, the occasional ‘bring your kid to the rink’ day. I’ve watched teammates chase their small urchins across fresh ice more than once. Which means there has to be small sizes somewhere in there. Please let there be small sizes. Please.
I throw open the door and scan the shelves, thankful when I see a pile of extra inventory. Somehow—miraculously—a pair in Theo’s size.
I grab them and jog back, adrenaline hitting different than it did on the ice five minutes ago.
“Okay,” I say, dropping into a crouch in front of Theo. “How do you feel about a birthday upgrade?”
His eyes go wide. “What kind of upgrade?”
“An on-ice one.”
Juliette sucks in a breath. “Sawyer—”
“I know,” I say gently, glancing up at her. “But trust me.”
She studies my face for a long beat, something unreadable drifting through her brown eyes, and then she nods.
The arena is still alive when we step out—people milling, laughing, celebrating, not quite ready to let go of a night that just punched their playoff ticket. The ice is cleared except for a few staff members, the lights still bright, the space wide and unreal.
I help Theo onto the ice, one careful step at a time.
He wobbles instantly.
“Okay,” he says, panicked. “Okay. I don’t know how to do this.”
“I’ve got you,” I say, hands firm on his arms. “No rushing. Just stand.”
He stands.
Barely.
Juliette watches from the boards, hands clasped together, eyes shining with nervousness and hope all at once.
Theo takes one step.
Then another.
And then—
“Well, would you look at that.”
I glance up.
One by one, my teammates drift onto the ice. No helmets. No sticks at first. Just grins, playful curiosity, and that loose, happy energy that comes after a win.
“What’s going on?” someone asks.
I grin. “It’s Theo’s birthday.”
That’s all it takes.
Someone tosses him a stick. Someone else gently skates a slow circle around him. Another teammate drops into a crouch and says, “You ready to play?” while someone else hands out helmets like they’re Halloween candy.
Theo’s mouth falls open. “With you?”
“With us,” another voice says.
They spread out—not overwhelming, not loud. Just inviting.
I release Theo slowly, skating backward in front of him. “You don’t have to be good,” I tell him. “You just have to have fun.”
He pushes off…and he almost falls.
Six hands reach out instantly, all of them ready to catch him because he’s with us, on the ice. He’s now family.
Theo laughs—full, unguarded, bright. The birthday boy on a birthday high, again. As it should be.
From the boards, I catch Juliette’s face. Her eyes are wet, and she’s smiling so hard it looks like it hurts, while my heart squeezes so hard I grab at my chest. Theo notices.
“You okay?” he asks. Innocent. Sweet.
“I am, my heart just had a stutter.”
He ponders this, scrunching up his face. “Like when you’re nervous?”
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” I say, humored by his all-knowing ways.
“Mom says if your heart starts beating really hard, like when you’re nervous, to remember it’s just your heart giving you applause you didn’t know you needed.”
My mind swirls thinking about how this ten-year-old just put me in my place as he is whisked away by Liam, who passes the puck while Ty helps keep Theo steady on his skates.
Theo taps the puck once. Then again, and this one slams into the net. The team erupts like he just scored a game-winner.
Theo throws his arms up, laughing so hard he nearly tips over, and I skate in fast enough to steady him before he falls. He’s glowing. Absolutely glowing. Like the ice beneath his feet just handed him proof that tonight matters.
And standing there, watching him in the middle of the ice—surrounded, celebrated, seen—I feel like it’s my birthday, not his. And my heart is definitely applauding.
When I glance toward the boards, Juliette has one hand pressed to her mouth now, eyes shining, smile wrecked in the best way.
Vivian is already crying. No surprise there.
Charlie stands a little straighter than usual, hands shoved into his coat pockets, nodding to himself like he’s filing this moment away forever.
Charlie catches my eye and gives me a sharp little wave. The come here kind.
I skate over, breathless but buzzing.
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, still watching Theo wobble happily between two defensemen who are treating him like precious cargo.
Charlie swallows once, then leans in. “I wanted to say…thank you.”
I shrug, suddenly not sure what to do with the weight in his voice. “It was nothing.”
He gives me a look. “It wasn’t.”
We stand there for a second, watching Theo laugh as someone gently slides the puck back to him, the guys cheering him on like this is the most important play of the night.
Charlie nods toward the ice. “Days like this,” he says quietly, “they carry a kid a long way.”
I nod, understanding. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
He shifts his weight, casual on the surface. “There’s another one of those moments coming up soon. In the guise of a certain breakfast,” he adds, like he’s just stating the weather. “At least, it’s supposed to be. If David shows up for that.”
I follow his gaze back to Theo, still smiling, still skating, still exactly where he should be.
Charlie exhales slowly. “I’m glad he has this one.”
“So am I,” I say.
Out on the ice, Theo catches sight of us and waves like we’re the ones who need reassurance.
I wave back, grinning.
Because tonight? Tonight showed up.
Even if his dad didn’t.
And if tomorrow doesn’t go exactly as planned—well.
We’ve already proven we’re pretty good at improvising.