Page 89 of Hard Check

"You won't," I repeated firmly. "But hypothetically, if Syracuse decides they're run by idiots and release the best prospect they've had in years, Lewiston will welcome you back with open arms."

"And you'll be here. Coaching."

"I'll be here. Coaching young players who'll probably never be half as good as you were at their age."

Pike laughed. "You'll make them better. Just like you made me better."

"We'll figure it out." I meant it. "Day by day, game by game. No grand promises, just... persistence."

"Persistence. I like that. It's better than promises. They assume you know what's coming. Persistence just means you're willing to keep trying."

We finally fell asleep that way—no grand gestures or desperate clutching at moments we knew were finite. Just his hand in mine and the steady rhythm of breathing that had become as familiar as my own heartbeat.

And for the first time in forever, I wasn't scared of tomorrow.

Chapter twenty-two

Epilogue - Pike

TheLewistonForgerinklooked smaller than I remembered.

Maybe it was me. Perhaps it was a dizzying year of NHL arenas and away-game adrenaline that had changed the scale of things. Or it was just that time has a funny way of shaving the sharp edges off memory.

I parked in my old spot—third row, two spaces from the light pole. It was the one Carver always teased me about, saying I was a creature of ritual. I wasn't. Not really. But this place? This town? Him?

Some rituals are worth keeping.

Inside, the arena smelled the same—rubber mats, stale popcorn, fresh-sharpened steel. My chest tightened as I stepped into the stands. On the ice below, a dozen kids in Forge practice jerseys flailed through a zone-entry drill, their limbs going in eight directions at once.

And at the center of it all—Carver.

He hadn't changed. Still wore that battered Forge jacket like armor. Still barked instructions like a drill sergeant one second and offered a high-five the next. One kid biffed hard into the boards, and Carver skated over, crouched down, and whispered something that made the boy grin through watery eyes.

I felt the now familiar tug in my chest again, sharper this time.

After the drill ended and the kids shuffled off the ice, Carver spotted me in the stands and lifted his chin. "You planning to lurk all night or gonna say hi like a civilized person?"

I grinned and headed down.

In Coach's office, we hugged and kissed, and he handed me a paper cup of cocoa without asking.

"You're coaching full-time now?"

"Mostly," he said, leaning back against the desk. "I consult with The Forge, and Coach lets me in this office as a perk. Mercier and TJ are the old men now. Can you believe it?"

I choked on a sip of cocoa. "TJ's an elder statesman?"

"He wears it like a crown. Mercier just sighs a lot and glares. It's leadership, Forge-style."

"And the kids?"

"Honestly, Pike, I love the kids. They listen to me."

We fell into an easy silence, the kind that only happens when distance hasn't done any damage.

Carver tossed a pair of skates onto the desk between us. "Lights are staying on for a bit. You game?"

The first glide onto the empty rink was a slide into memories. The ice whispered under our blades, and the boards echoed with the ghost of past games.

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