Page 19 of Hometown Heart

That was certainly a picture that deserved an honored place on the wall.

I decided on one more errand before lunch. I set out on foot, walking through a neighborhood of solid old homes

As I pushed through the heavy doors, the arena smelled of fresh ice and leather. It was quiet just before lunch with school in session. My footsteps echoed across the empty lobby.

Brooks Bennett stood by the skate rental counter, sorting through flyers. He glanced up, a knowing look crossing his face. "Jack. I wasn't expecting to see you until Saturday's practice."

"I'm checking the schedule for next week." I gestured toward the bulletin board, though we both knew Cody's practice times were already programmed into my phone.

"Uh-huh." Brooks set his papers down. "How're you finding our little slice of hockey heaven?"

"It's good. Different from New York, but good." I ran a hand along the counter's worn edge. "Cody's settling in."

"And his dad?"

The question hung there, deceptively casual. I'd forgotten that Brooks had grown up in Whistleport with Silas and probably witnessed whatever ghosts Rory was talking about.

"Still finding my feet," I admitted.

Brooks nodded slowly. "You know, we've got pickup games on Sundays. Nothing fancy—locals burning off their weekendchowder. Some of us can skate, others..." He grinned. "Well, let's say enthusiasm counts for more than skill."

"I don't really—"

"Play? Neither did half the parents when they started." He pulled a flyer from his stack, sliding it across the counter. "This Sunday. Two o'clock. Bring whatever gear you've got, and we'll loan you the rest."

I stared at the paper. "I'd probably spend more time eating ice than playing."

"That's half the fun." Brooks's expression turned serious. "Look, Jack. Sometimes, the best way to understand this town is to be part of it. Even if that means falling on your ass a few times."

I was halfway to the door when Brooks called after me. "Hey, you want to see something?"

He led me across the empty rink to a wall of team photos, his skates dangling from one hand. The images marched through the decades in neat rows, each capturing a different generation of Whistleport's hockey history.

"Here." Brooks tapped a frame from 2009. "Check out the back row, second from right."

A younger Silas stared back from behind thick-rimmed glasses, his smile slightly uncertain compared to his teammates' confident grins. Even in the faded photo, something about his posture spoke of someone trying to belong.

"He joined junior year," Brooks said. "Most of us had been skating since we could walk, but Silas? He'd barely touched the ice."

"What changed?"

"The rink started opening early for maintenance. Five AM." Brooks smiled at the memory. "I'd come in some mornings—captain's privilege to use the ice whenever—and there he'd be. I think he liked something physical before the school day. He wasalways practicing stops and doing edge work. Basic stuff we all learned as kids."

The image settled into place—Silas in the pre-dawn quiet, falling and getting back up, over and over.

"He'd record these drills on his phone," Brooks continued. "Study them at night like he was prepping for finals. Wouldn't let anyone help at first. Too proud, maybe. Or too scared of looking foolish."

"What changed?" I asked again, softer this time.

"Rory did, actually. He started showing up on those mornings too. Didn't make a big deal about it, just casually demonstrating proper form while doing his own practice. Pretty soon, half the team was joining the dawn sessions." Brooks shook his head. "Silas fought it at first, but eventually, he figured out that getting better meant letting people in."

I studied the photo again. "Did he make varsity?"

"Made the second line by season's end. He wasn't the most talented player but worked harder than anyone." Brooks straightened, his expression turning thoughtful. "Funny thing is, he's still doing it. Taking on everything himself, like he's got something to prove."

"Or something to protect," I said quietly.

Brooks gave me a sharp look. "Maybe. But you know what I learned from coaching? Sometimes the biggest plays happen when you trust your teammates enough to take the shot."

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