Page 35 of The Parent Playbook
I can’t breathe. I’m afraid of this moment passing too quickly, as if holding my breath could put a pause on time.
“It’s so peaceful,” she says.
“You think they make it to the stars?” I ask, half-joking.
“With your shot? Definitely,” she winks, and it’s the perfect cap to the night.
The lanterns drift out of sight, and we’re left there, smiles on our faces.
Just as we’re about to turn back toward the festival’s brighter lights, the quiet bubble bursts with the sudden appearance of Andy and Lily, both sporting impish grins that are a bit too knowing for my comfort.
“What are you two doing?” Andy asks with mock innocence, eyeing the now distant lanterns with a smirk.
“Sending signals to aliens,” I quip, trying to match his tone, but my face heats up, feeling caught like I’m back in high school getting busted for passing notes in class.
“Daaad.” Lily sets her hands on her hips and pops them to the side, her eyes darting between Angel and me.
“Okay, you got us. We were making sure our lantern didn’t set a tree on fire,” I say, hoping my casual chuckle sounds convincing. Angel plays along with a theatrical nod.
“Yeah, very dangerous, those paper lanterns,” she adds. The kids seem pleased with their detective work as they tug at each of our hands and lead us back toward the festival’s hustle.
“Come on, Mom. You’ve got to share a funnel cake with me like we do every year,” Andy declares.
We walk back, the kids a few steps ahead. Angel hangs back slightly and reaches up to touch my cheek gently. “Thanks for tonight, Scotty,” she whispers and her touch sends a warmth right through me, like I’m a flame that’s been stoked.
I manage a nod, words failing me as my heart decides to do somersaults. “Of course, Angel,” I finally get out, my voice a little rough around the edges. I’m not ready for this to end. “I’ll swing by tomorrow, see if we can finish up that …” Thatwhat? I can’t think of a single task on the two-page list. “That thing you need doing.”
An embarrassed laugh slips out. I’m caught.
“Yeah,” she replies with the smug smile that makes me want to drop everything and fold her into my arms. “Come on over and we’ll dothat thing.”
She walks off, wraps her arm around Andy’s shoulders, and I know for sure now that I’m melting—and I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.
In the early morning, Maple Fest is still alive in my bones, the memory of Angel’s face in the light of the lantern. But duty calls and the brisk rink air is a pleasant distraction from every other thought … especially since they’re all thoughts of Angel.
The arena is buzzing with the usual morning practice energy as I watch the team from behind the boards. The crisp sound of skates cutting into the ice, pucks clacking against sticks—it’s all familiar, comforting even, but there’s a restlessness in me today that’s hard to shake.
“Saw you chatting up the charity lady at the festival,” Noah says, sidling up beside me with a knowing grin. He nudges me with his elbow, the smirk on his face all too telling. “Guess you got over the boot smack.”
I roll my eyes, keeping my gaze on the ice. “I’m helping her out with the ranch. It’s falling apart,” I explain, trying to sound casual, detached. But the smirk on Noah’s face tells me he’s not buying it.
“Sure, sure. A bit ofcharity work, huh?” He winks, but I can tell he’s only half-joking. Before I can craft a witty reply, my attention snaps back to the ice.
“Hold up,” I call out, squinting toward the action on the ice. “Why aren’t the assists syncing with those shots? We’re off rhythm, guys.”
Noah leans on the boards, studying the players’ movements.After a moment, he turns to me, an analytical glint in his eye. “They need to read the play better. The puck carrier’s got to telegraph less and the wings need to find fragile spots in the defense quicker. Tighter, more intuitive passing will chain those plays together.”
I nod, giving him a sidelong glance, impressed despite myself. “That’s sharp. Ever think about swapping those skates for a clipboard?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Forget about me. Let’s talk aboutyoufor a second. Come on, man, you know you’d rather be out there on the ice than back here.” His voice lowers, turning serious. “Think of the comeback it would make.”
His words hit a nerve.Again. I gaze out at the ice, watching the players glide effortlessly, but with an undercurrent of energy and passion. A part of me aches to be out there, to feel that rush again, the adrenaline, the sheer thrill of the game.
Doubt immediately sneaks in and smacks me with reality. Four years away—it’s not a “break,” it’s a lifetime in hockey years.
Would I still have the edge? Would anyone even take a chance on me now?
“You’ve still got it, Scotty. Don’t sell yourself short,” Noah adds, clapping me on the shoulder as if he’s read my thoughts. “I may be the ‘Comeback King,’ but there’s room for both of us on the throne.”
