Page 12 of Hometown Heart

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Nothing to apologize for." His voice dropped lower, almost lost under the music and chatter around us. "Everyone needs a little help finding their balance sometimes."

A shriek of laughter broke the moment. A group of Cody's teammates had started a game of tag, darting between other skaters with the agility of young cats.

"Dad! Silas! Come on!" Cody waved from the growing circle of kids. "You have to play, too!"

"Oh, I don't think—" I started, but Silas was already tugging me forward.

"Come on, city boy. Live a little."

Maybe it was the coffee still warming my stomach, Silas's eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled, or the infectious joy radiating from my son—but I found myself nodding. "Fine. But I'm blaming you when I fall and make a fool of myself."

"Deal." He winked. "I'll even throw in a muffin on the house after."

We joined the kids' game, and to my surprise, I started to find my rhythm. Sure, I was slower than everyone else, and my turnswere more geometry than grace, but with Silas on one side and Cody on the other, I felt... solidly in place. Like maybe I didn't have to have everything figured out to enjoy the moment.

Ten minutes in, I even managed to tag Silas, though I suspected he'd slowed down on purpose. Cody's look of delighted shock made my questionable victory even sweeter.

Half an hour later, it was time for the shootout to begin. I crouched next to Cody, who sat on the players' bench, adjusting his helmet strap. "Remember to breathe, bud. Just like practice, okay?"

Around us, the carnival crowd pressed against the boards, their excited chatter echoing off the arena ceiling. Someone had dimmed the regular lights, leaving only the snowflake lanterns and a spotlight on the goal where Ziggy Knickerbocker—Whistleport's own UMaine living legend—waited to announce each shooter.

"What if I mess up?" Cody's voice wavered. "Everybody's watching."

"Hey." I turned his chin toward me, our eyes locking. "You've got this. And no matter what happens, I'm proud of you for trying."

"That's what Papa said on the phone last night, too." He swallowed hard. "But I think he was just being nice."

The mention of Edward stung slightly, but I pushed past it. "You know what? Watch the goal, not the goalie. Pick your spot early—"

"—and trust my instincts." Cody nodded. "Like you always say."

"Next up," Ziggy's voice boomed through the speakers, "number eleven, Cody St. Pierre!"

Silas appeared at my shoulder, squeezing Cody's arm. "Show 'em what you can do, buddy."

Cody's skates hit the ice, and my stomach did a slow roll. The crowd's murmuring faded as he collected his pucks at center ice. Three shots. Three chances to prove—to himself, more than anyone—that he belonged here.

His first attempt caught the post with a hollow clang that made half the crowd wince. But Cody didn't hesitate. He lined up his second shot, stick tapping twice against the ice—his good luck ritual. The puck zipped past the goalie's blocker, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying snap.

The audience erupted. I joined in the celebration, throwing my arms in the air. Beside me, Silas bounced on his skates like a kid himself.

Cody's final shot wasn't fancy. No deke, no flashy moves. It was a simple, straight shot that found a tiny gap between the goalie's pads.

Two out of three.

Cody spun toward the bench, both gloves thrust skyward. I hadn't seen him smile like that since... since before the divorce, maybe. It was pure, uncomplicated joy.

"Dad! Dad! Did you see?" He crashed into me, smelling of fresh ice and winter air. "I scored! Twice!"

"Saw every second, bud." I hugged him tight. "You were amazing."

"Most impressive shooting I've seen today," Ziggy said, skating over with a bronze medal. He hung it around Cody's neck with ceremonial gravity. "You've got great hockey sense, kid. Keep working on that quick release."

Cody stared at him with such awe that I had to bite back a laugh. I fumbled for my phone, wanting to capture this moment—my son, face flushed with victory, with a local hockey legend's hand on his shoulder.

"Your boy's got talent." Silas brushed his shoulder against mine as he helped me frame the shot. "But more importantly, he's got heart."

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