Page 4 of Hometown Heart

As if summoned by our conversation, the door opened again. Jack stood there, looking slightly shell-shocked.

"That bad?" I asked, already reaching for a fresh cup.

"He got checked into the boards—a little harder than in New York." Jack's voice was rough. "Got right back up, grinning like it was Christmas morning. My heart, however..." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I sent him off with his new buddy, Tyler. He got invited over for a couple of hours while I decompress."

"Welcome to Whistleport hockey dad life," Brooks chuckled. "You'll get used to it. Eventually."

Jack's eyes found mine as I slid the fresh coffee across the counter. "On the house?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"This one you're paying for," I said, surprising myself with how easily the teasing came. "Can't have people thinking I'm running a charity instead of a business."

"Wouldn't want to start rumors," Jack agreed, and something in his tone made me glance at Dottie's table. The three women quickly looked away, suddenly fascinated by their cups.

As Jack paid, his fingers brushed mine, warm despite the arena's chill. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For your wise comment earlier. Sometimes the story does need somewhere to go."

I nodded, my throat unexpectedly tight. "Same time tomorrow?"

"It's Sunday, so practice starts at eleven." He paused, then added, "But we might come a little early. Those marshmallows made quite an impression."

Chapter two

Jack

The arena parking lot was half-full—SUVs with salt-streaked bumpers and pickups with faded hockey decals. The vehicles were functional and dependable, as I needed Whistleport to be for Cody.

It was the junior league's third Saturday of winter hockey practice, the final one before official games began. While waiting for me to park, Cody's fingers pounded an enthusiastic rhythm against his equipment bag.

"Hey, Dad, look at how many cars are here already. Coach Rory said practice starts at seven, but everyone comes early to—" He paused mid-sentence, squinting through the windshield. "Oh man, is that Oliver from my math class? He wasn't here the last two times!"

I shifted into park, watching the kids hauling their gear toward the entrance. Back in New York, I'd known every parent and every player. Here, almost every face was a question mark. "You're doing great, bud. Just take it slow, get a feel for—"

Cody threw open his door before I could finish, letting in a blast of Maine winter that smelled of pine and sea salt. "I know, Iknow—Oliver's cool, Dad. You'll like him. And look, he's wearing a Canadiens jersey!"

I watched my son bounce across the parking lot. Pride and worry settled in my chest—feelings I'd known since Cody's first steps on the ice and his first day of kindergarten. Pride that he was already finding his place. Worry that I couldn't protect him from the unknowns of our new hometown.

And there was something else crowding into my thoughts—something sharper but quieter.It was the gut-deep ache of missing how things used to be.

Before the divorce.

I should have been used to it by now. Butsome mornings, I still reached for my phone before remembering there was no one to text about how Cody was smiling in his sleep when I entered his bedroom to wake him.

The dashboard clock read 6:42. We were early, and I decided to stick around to meet a few more of my new neighbors. I had plenty of time to scope out the territory before the real crowd arrived.

I grabbed my travel mug, already half-empty from our morning stop at Tidal Grounds, and stepped out into the crisp air. The renovated arena rose before me, its fresh paint and updated signage standing out against the weathered buildings nearby. Inside those walls, my son would either find his place or...

I shook off the thought. We'd chosen Whistleport for solid reasons—it was a fresh start and a chance for Cody to play the game he loved without the baggage of being "the kid with two dads" or "the one from the messy divorce." Here, I counted on the locals to let him be Cody, the new kid who loved hockey.

It was also the only way I could give him stability without losing my career completely. I'd worked out a deal with my architecture firm before we left—remote projects from here, withquarterly trips back to New York for meetings. It wasn't perfect, but the compromise let me keep my job and my son's best interests intact.

At least, that was the idea.

Inside, the arena hummed with pre-practice energy. Parents clustered in the bleachers, smartphones in hand, while kids clomped around in various states of dress for the rink.

I found a spot halfway up the aluminum bleachers, positioning myself with a clear view of the ice. I was far enough from the chattering crowd to maintain my anonymity, or so I thought. It lasted approximately forty-five seconds.

"You must be Jack!" A woman in a puffy blue coat turned around, coffee sloshing dangerously in her cup. "I'm Ruthie Langford—you might have seen me at Tidal Grounds." She gestured toward the ice. "My grandson Oliver's sitting there with your boy by the lockers. We've been so curious about—" She caught herself. "I mean, it's wonderful to have new families join the program."

"Thanks." I did my best to sound friendly and engaged. "Cody's excited to be here."

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