Page 209 of Make the Play

I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yeah.”

“Me too, sometimes.”

“I was just a kid,” I say, voice low. “But I should’ve been smarter.”

Jordan lets out a long, slow breath. “You were ten, Chase. I was fifteen. I was supposed to be the one watching out for you.”

“I should’ve stayed on the shore.”

“And I should’ve caught the puck in the third game of playoffs that year,” he deadpans. “But guess what? Regret’s a shit goalie. Always late to the play.”

A soft sound escapes me—half laugh, half ache.

“No one blames you,” he says, more serious now. “Not Mom, not Dad. Not me. You’ve been carrying this story like it ends with me in that hospital bed. But it didn’t end there, man. I’m okay.”

“You lost your shot at hockey.”

“You think that means I lost everything?” he counters. “I still skate. I still coach. I still make fun of you from the couch when you miss a breakaway.”

My throat tightens. “I just—I didn’t protect you. And now… it’s happening again.”

He goes quiet, but it’s not heavy, it’s waiting.

“Something bad happened to someone I—” I stop myself. “Someone I care about.”

“Someone you love.”

I don’t respond, but that’s answer enough.

Jordan’s voice softens. “Okay. So what now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m trying, but I feel like I’m ten again. I blinked and it all went to hell and now I’m just frozen.”

He hums. “Except this time, no one’s under the ice. They’re still here, and you’re not a kid anymore. You can call and you can fight. You can try again.”

I press my back to the kitchen counter, heart still thrumming. “She got hurt, and I wasn’t there.”

“She okay now?”

“She’s healing. But I can’t stop thinking about it, and I don’t know how to be around her without wanting to wrap her in armor and keep her away from everyone, including me.”

“Let me guess. She’s not into the overprotective caveman thing?”

I snort, despite myself. “Not when she’s trying to remember how to feel safe in her own skin.”

He’s quiet for a second. “When I got out of the hospital,” he says casually, but I hear the weight under it. “I figured you’d blame yourself.”

“I do.”

“I know. But you shouldn’t. You fell through the ice, I pulled you out. That’s it.”

“It ruined everything for you.”

“Itchangedthings, that’s different.” Another pause. “And it didn’t ruinyou, so I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I never blamed you, Chase. You were a scared kid who ran barefoot across a frozen hill to get help. That’s not the villain in the story, man. That’s the hero.”

My throat tightens and I grip the edge of the bench.

“You still run that way, you know,” he adds. “Toward the people you love, even when it hurts.”

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