Page 73 of Almost Ours
“Harper,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t just survive that. You rose above it. You’re a damn warrior, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Her words hit something deep inside me, and I blinked back tears as I hugged her tighter.
“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice shaky but steady enough.
Patti leaned over the counter,flipping through a clipboard thick with paper. “I’m telling you, the new vendor wants to charge almost double for coffee next month. Double, Ryan. I said, ‘What do you think this is, Rogers Arena?’”
I chuckled, leaning one elbow on the counter. “Yeah, I don’t think parents are gonna be thrilled about paying six bucks for something that tastes like it was brewed in a skate.”
“Exactly,” she said, tapping the clipboard. “And don’t even get me started on the muffin situation–”
I didn’t hear the rest. My gaze had shifted to the arena entrance, and everything else–the voices, the echoing hum of the Zamboni, the squeak of skates against the tile–faded into the background.
Connor stepped through the doors first, stick in one hand like it was an extension of him. Harper followed close behind, unwinding a pale scarf from her neck. She tugged off her knit hat, releasing loose waves of blonde hair that framed her face, her coat fitted and warm against the December chill.
My brows lifted. Yesterday, she’d told me the doctor hadn’t cleared Connor yet, and he’d been crushed about it. Now it looked like he was seconds from running straight onto the ice.
“... so I told him, if they want me to serve those stale things, they can pay me hazard pay,” Patti was still talking, but her words barely registered.
Harper had stopped to talk to Julie Mason, TK’s mom, her smile polite and warm. She bent slightly toward Connor, brushing her hand over the back of his jacket in that absent, protective way.
Shane appeared at my side, saving me from trying to fake another round of listening. “Pre-game in five, Barzal.”
I gave Patti a quick nod. “We’ll finish this later.”
As Shane and I walked toward the locker room, he smirked. “You looked about two seconds from handing over your life savings to get out of that conversation.”
“Maybe,” I said, as my eyes flicked once more toward the lobby.
The roarof the crowd swelled around me, the air thick with the kind of buzz you only got during a hometown tournament. It felt like half of Brookhaven had crammed into the stands–parents, siblings, grandparents, the occasional curious neighbour who didn’t even have a kid on the team. Every cheer echoed off the rafters, bouncing around the rink until it was impossible not to get caught up in the noise.
I was trying–really trying–to keep my eyes on the ice. But every couple of minutes, they drifted to the section just in front of our bench. Harper sat in her usual spot beside Nina, bundled in her coat with her scarf tucked neatly under her chin. Connorwas wedged between them, leaning so far forward I thought he might topple out of his seat. His eyes tracked every movement on the ice like he was studying tape, fists clenched tight in his lap.
I knew exactly what that meant. He was itching to be out there. This had to be killing him. Especially now, when we were down by two with less than five minutes on the clock.
The sound of cheering snapped me back to the game. Evan stole the puck at center ice, stickhandling past a defenseman before cutting hard to the right. Another opponent closed in, and Evan feathered the puck across to Jensen, who caught it on the tape without even hesitating. He snapped a wrist shot toward the far post, and the puck sailed just over the goalie’s pad, hitting the back of the net with a satisfyingthunk.
The place exploded. Cheers, stomping boots on metal bleachers, the clang of cowbells someone had smuggled in. I glanced back at Harper’s row just in time to see Connor leap to his feet, fists pumping in the air, his grin so wide it was impossible not to return it.
Shaneand I pushed through the locker room doors, the faint smell of sweat and damp gear following us out. We’d lost by one, but I’d made sure the boys knew it was a hell of a game. They’d fought hard, and I was proud of every single one of them.
That’s when I spotted Connor leaning against the wall just outside the changeroom, his stick balanced across his shoulders like the hockey version of a samurai. His eyes lit up when he saw me.
“Hey, bud,” I said, walking over “How you feeling?”
“Great,” he said instantly–then took off like he’d been saving the words all day. “I seriously don’t get why I can’t play. I feel totally fine. The doctor doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, but Mom keep saying I have to listen to him, but, like, if I can skate and shoot and not even fall over, why can’t I play? It’s not like I’m gonna get hurt. And I–”
Harper appeared mid-sentence, slipping into view, her green eyes locking on Connor with a look so practised it had to be patented. “Still going, huh?”
Connor didn’t even slow down. “–and it’s my first tournament here, and all my friends are playing and everyone’s watching and–”
She rolled her eyes at me over his head. “It’s been like this since yesterday.”
I bit back a laugh, shaking my head. “Hey, why don’t you go in and say hi to the guys?”
Connor’s eyes went wide. “Can I?”
“Of course,” I said, and he was gone before I could finish, barrelling into the changeroom like a puppy who’d just been told there were treats inside.
