Page 127 of Almost Ours
I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. “I missed this.”
And I had.
But as I watched them skate out, their sleds gliding effortlessly over the ice, the weight in my chest didn’t lift. No matter how much joy this place brought me, it would never erase the reason it existed–or the guilt that settled like a stone in my gut every time I looked at Kyle.
When I finally stepped onto the ice, the cool air hit me, and that familiar rush flooded through me–the kind that only this place could bring.
The kids were already zipping around in their sledges, their laughter echoing off the arena walls. Energy buzzed through the rink, an undeniable force that made it impossible not to smile.
“Alright, team,” I called out over the noise. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
A chorus of cheers rang out as they moved into drills, pushing themselves with the same fire that had gotten two of them on the national team. Watching them skate, seeing how far they’d come, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.
The scrimmage was Kyle’s idea, as always.
“Come on, get in a sledge,” he said, tapping his own with a grin. “You’ve been coaching all practice–time to get in the game.”
I rolled my eyes, though I didn’t argue. Kyle never let me sit on the sidelines for long.
Grabbing one of the sledges, I slid into it, adjusting the straps and gripping the sticks. A round of cheers erupted as I joined the rotation, the kids already hyping each other up for the game. Their energy was contagious, the kind that made you forget everything else.
The game started fast and chaotic, just the way they liked it. I raced down the ice, maneuvering as best I could, but they had the edge on me–they always did. Kyle was right in the mix, his sharp instincts and raw skill proving exactly why he’d been one of the best before the accident. He made it look effortless.
By the time the game ended, I was drenched in sweat, my arms burning. No matter how many times I did this, I never got over how much of a workout it was. The kids skated circles around me, chirping me between bursts of laughter. I didn’t mind. Seeing them build confidence, watching them joke and push themselves–it made every ache, every exhausted breath, worth it.
As practice wrapped up, we all piled into the dressing room, the post-game adrenaline still buzzing in the air. Gear clattered to the floor as the kids stripped off their pads, their faces still flushed with excitement. I could see it in every single one of them–how much this team meant, how much it gave them. It hit me hard, like it always did.
“Hell of a game,” Kyle said, rolling up beside me as I took my skates off. “You’re finally getting the hang of it.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “Yeah, maybe in ten more years I’ll keep up with them.”
Kyle laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. “We’ll stop by my place so we can shower and change before we hit the pub for dinner.”
I nodded, grabbing my bag. He headed to his vehicle while I climbed into my truck, muscle memory taking over as I drove the familiar route to his place.
My mind replayed the afternoon–the drills, the scrimmage, the way the kids lit up when they were on the ice. This program, this team–it was everything I hadn’t realized I needed.
When Kyle and I started it, I thought it was just a way to keep busy. A way to give back. But it had turned into something so much bigger. Watching these kids grow into themselves, watching them find confidence and community–it was more fulfilling than anything else I’d done in years.
And then there was the thought I hated acknowledging.
If that moment hadn't happened–the moment that had changed everything–this program might never have existed.
The thought lodged itself in my chest, heavy and unshakable.
Because it wasn’t just the program. If that moment hadn’t derailed my life, I never would have left the NHL. Never would have moved to Brookhaven. Never would have started coaching with Shane.
And I never would have met Harper and Connor.
I never would have had the chance to build something real, something good, with them.
Bittersweet didn’t even begin to cover it.
Kyle’s place came into view–a sprawling rancher just outside the city, nestled on a wide stretch of property. The house was a perfect mix of modern and rustic, with dark wood accents, stonework, and massive windows that bathed the inside in natural light. The wide porch wrapped around the front, practically begging you to sit down, kick back, and stay awhile.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, but it didn't stop the past from creeping in.
The game had been brutal.The kind where tempers ran high, where every check had a little more weight behind it. Kyle’s team was good–fast, skilled, relentless. They were making us look like fuckingamateurs, and I couldn’t stand it. I needed to do something. I needed to feel something.
