Page 47 of The Parent Playbook
The rink is a sensory overload, alive with the sort of electric buzz that can only happen with the fire of opening night nerves and undiluted fanatical enthusiasm. The place is draped in a kaleidoscope of team colors, swirling around like a painter’s palette gone wild in the hands of a hyperactive toddler.
As Andy drags me through the doors, we’re hit with a wall of sound—a cacophony of cheering fans, the thunderous stomp of feet, and music blasting through the speakers so loud it vibrates in my chest. It’s Game One and even I, a self-professed rink-resister, am caught up in the wave of excitement that seems to sweep through the crowd, infecting everyone with a potent dose of team spirit.
“It’s so different with thousands of people here!” Andy calls out.
“What do you mean, different?” I ask, leaning toward him so he can hear me over the crowd. “Since when do you come to the rink?”
Andy stops in his tracks. “Did I say I came to the rink?”
“Yes, you did.”
He shrugs. “These days, everyone’s at the rink. I have asmuch reason as anyone, especially when it comes to inspecting how they’ve implemented new climate-helping protocols.”
His answer is believable, but I’m not quite buying it.
The air is thick, and makes me wish I’d thought more about my choice of jacket, but the smell of popcorn—buttery and tempting—is enough to make me forget the cold.
Why didn’t I eat dinner? Oh yeah, the nerves that are chewing away at every bit of my insides.
The bright lights of the arena, blinding against the creeping darkness of the evening outside, cast a spotlight that feels almost tangible, like I could reach out and hold a beam. Children dash around with cotton candy clutched in sticky hands, their faces painted in the Ice Breakers’ colors, eyes wide with glee.
It’s hard not to get swept up in it all—the anticipation of the game, the shared camaraderie of the fans, the collective breath-holding as the game draws near. Even the ice, gleaming under the arena lights, looks inviting rather than cold and hard.
For a moment, I allow myself to forget the pile of paperwork waiting for me, the never-ending responsibilities, and let the energy of the place wash over me.
Navigating through the dense, cheerful crowd, with Andy’s excitement buzzing like the overhead lights, a shout catches my attention.
“Hey, aren’t you the lady from Happy Horizons?” I turn, facing a woman wrapped in a team scarf so vibrant it could probably be seen from space. Her smile is just as bright.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, a little awkward about being recognized in the wild—outside my usual habitat of goat pens and finance spreadsheets.
“I saw your interview on TV. What you’re doing for those kids, it’s incredible,” she continues, her voice carrying over the hum of pre-game chatter.
I shuffle my feet. “Thank you,” I reply, trying to gather my usually quick wit. “We do what we can, you know?”
She nods, her hand briefly touching my arm. It’s a simplegesture, but with so much kindness that I think I might get a little misty-eyed. “It’samazing. Makes cheering for the Ice Breakers even more meaningful, knowing they support Happy Horizons.”
I crack a smile, my first genuine one of the evening. “Means a lot to hear that, really. Hopefully, we can keep the momentum going.”
Well, gosh. Who knew hockey could be so feel-good?
“Those are our seats there, Mom! Lily’s already there.” Andy rushes ahead to the very first row, but the first thing I notice—well, let’s be honest, the only thing I notice—is Scotty.
He’s swapped his usual laid-back, mismatched style for a tie and a crisply ironed shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the contours of his shoulders. Ridiculously, I find myself envying the fabric, which clings to him in a way that’s probably only decent in a dimly lit room. The tie, a dark, sedate affair, somehow makes the whole ensemble less formal and more like he’s playing dress-up. Which, given the mischievous glint in his eye, might very well be the case.
The sight sends a surprising jolt through me, like I gulped down my coffee too fast and it’s scalding its way down. There’s this ridiculous sensation that I’d like to chalk up to just about anything else, but my conscience smirks and calls it like it is—attraction, plain and simple.
I imagine unlacing that tie, undoing that top button, grabbing that crisp white collar, and pulling him in for the kiss I’ve been waiting my whole life for.
Scotty leans over the half-wall toward me.
Do not grab the tie. Do not grab the tie.
“Really appreciate you being here with Lily,” he says, his smile spreading as he straightens the knot on his decidedly un-Scotty-like tie. “You know, they say a tie is a cape on backward. Guess I’m ready to save the day, huh? Better get going?—”
“Dad, wait!” Lily’s practically bouncing on the balls of herfeet, the urgency cranking up a notch. “You can’t go yet!” She looks at Andy, a strange urgency in her eyes.
Scotty pauses, his head tilted as Lily snatches Andy’s phone from his hands. Her fingers swipe with practiced speed. “We need a selfie, come on. For the ‘Gram. You know, to capture the tie catastrophe and all.”
