Page 40 of Hometown Heart

I glanced at him. "Are you scouting or watching the game?"

"Can't it be both?"

Brooks grinned. "Damn. You do pay attention,"

"Just wait until I start heckling the refs."

the longer I sat next to Silas, the less I cared about the side-eyes from Whistleport's peanut gallery.

The first period included plenty of the controlled chaos that defined junior hockey. We would see bursts of impressive skill. Next, there are plenty of moments of unintentional comedy. Camden's star forward was a skinny kid with surprising speed. He tried to split our defense, but Rory came prepared. He had our defensemen maintain their positions, forcing Camden to attempt increasingly desperate shots from poor angles.

"There it is." Silas watched as Tyler intercepted a cross-ice pass. "You can read Camden's center like a book. You know what's coming ten strides ahead."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have you been watching game tapes?"

"Please. I've served these Camden coaches coffee every away game for three seasons. They talk strategy over my pour-overs like I'm not even there. It's amazing what people will say in front of the guy making their drinks. They have no idea that I'm on a direct line to Rory."

The buzzer signaled the end of the first period, and the game was scoreless. Players shuffled toward their benches, some collapsing on the boards from exhaustion. Cody remained standing, listening intently to whatever Rory was telling them, occasionally nodding with fierce determination.

Silas made a wise observation. "He's good at taking direction. A lot of kids have trouble processing feedback during a game."'

"The coaches had to deal with a mess in New York," I admitted. "Too many parents pushed their agendas."

"And here?"

I watched Rory crouch down to eye level with the team, his hands sketching plays in the air that the kids followed with rapt attention.

"Here it feels like they're learning the game, not just a win-at-any-cost attitude."

Brooks turned around. "Don't let Rory hear you say that. He's still mad about losing to Camden in the holiday tournament."

Silas explained further. "Some rivalries run deep. Camden's coach used to date Rory's sister. Ended badly."

Brooks winked. "Hockey and heartbreak are small-town Maine specialties."

The second-period whistle blew, and we settled back in, my shoulders touching Silas's, with commentary flowing easily between us. The sidelong glances from around the arena were now merely background noise.

We entered the third period with a tie game.

Cody picked off a pass at the blue line and took off down the ice. It was a brilliant breakaway.

The crowd leaned forward on the edges of their seats. So did Silas. I held my breath.

Cody faked a shot, dragging the puck backhand, and then he buried it top shelf. Goal! The arena exploded in cheers.

Before I could react, Silas was already on his feet, shouting. "That was one hell of a move!" A few people turned to look at Silas.

He caught himself, cleared his throat, and sat back down.

The goal horn still echoed through the arena as Cody circled back to the bench, receiving high-fives and helmet taps from his teammates. His face shone with pure joy through the cage of his helmet. It was an expression of unfiltered triumph.

It took me a while to process what I'd just witnessed. My son, who months ago had been struggling to find his place on an overly competitive New York team, had just executed a move worthy of highlight reels. It all happened so naturally that it seemed impossible this was the same kid who used to overthink every play.

"Did you teach him that move?" Silas asked.

"No. That was all him."

The arena vibrated with energy for the remaining minutes of the game. Camden pressed hard, pulling their goalie for an extra attacker in the final minute, but Whistleport's defense held. When the final buzzer sounded, we'd won a 2-1 victory—our first against Camden in almost two years.

---