Page 59 of Pucking the Single Dad
Top corner, bar down. The sound it made—that perfect ping-swoosh—was better than music.
Hat trick.
Hats rained onto the ice. My teammates mobbed me. But all I could think about was Serena's face on that tiny phone screen.
Sixty-three seconds left. Calgary pulled Morty again, six attackers swarming. They set up in our zone, passing with deadly precision. Their shot hit the post—the sound like a gunshot in the arena. The rebound came to Michael, wide open net—
I dove. Full extension, bad knee be damned, getting my stick on the puck just as he released it. The puck deflected to Derek, who cleared it the length of the ice.
Empty netter. 5-2 final.
"Jesus Christ, Wilder!" Derek pulled me up, checking my knee. "You trying to re-tear everything?"
But I felt invincible. Not because of the goals or the saves or the twenty-thousand people chanting my name.
Because somewhere in Wrightwood, a seven-year-old boy with asthma and a woman who'd saved us both were wearing my number, calling themselves mine.
"Dude, you're actually glowing," Yamamoto laughed in the locker room. "What's gotten into you?"
"He's got a family to impress," Theo supplied, showing them his phone. Another message from Serena, this one just text:Finn's asleep in your jersey. Breathing perfect. That diving save almost gave me a heart attack. Come home to us.
Us.
"That your girl?" Derek asked, seeing the photos Theo was scrolling through—Serena and Finn's blanket fort, their matching jerseys, the pure joy on their faces.
"Yeah," I said, not bothering to correct the 'fake' part anymore. "That's my family."
The word felt perfect in my mouth. Like coming home after days in the wilderness.
Like everything broken finally clicking back into place.
I was in my hotel room, riding the high of victory, when Serena video-called. She was in our bed wearing my jersey, hair messy from sleep.
"Congratulations," she said softly. "Finn's so proud. He made me replay your second goal six times before bed."
"Serena." Her name came out rough. "Thank you. For today, for handling everything, for being..."
"Being what?"
"Everything. You're everything."
Her breath caught. "Brad..."
I wanted to say how much she meant to me, how important she was for both me and Finn.
Instead, I said quietly, "I should let you sleep," though every part of me wanted to keep her on that screen forever.
"Okay," she whispered, but neither of us moved to hang up.
The final morning in Calgary, I woke to a photo from Serena. She and Finn had built an elaborate blanket fort in the living room, complete with fairy lights and a sign: "No Sad Dads Allowed - Only Happy Hockey Heroes."
The caption read:Someone missed you. Two someones.
Coach found me staring at my phone in the locker room, probably looking besotted.
"That your teacher?" he asked.
"Yeah."
