Page 16 of Almost Ours
She plucked a fresh clipboard from the pile and slid it across to me with a pen. “Emergency contacts here, medical info there…”
I nodded, sinking into the chair opposite her, trying to match her easy energy. My hands shook just slightly as I started filling in the blanks, the scratch of the pen loud in the small room. Then my gaze caught on the bottom line of the form.
Registration Fee: $300.
The number might as well have been carved in stone, bold and unforgiving. My throat tightened, heat creeping up my neck.
Connor deserved this. He loved this game with a pure joy that somehow survived Reid’s relentless pressure, the screaming fits after losses, the way he treated every missed goal like it was the end of the world.
And now it was on me to keep his love for the sport going.
My fingers tightened around the pen, embarrassment prickling at my skin as I forced myself to meet Patti’s expectant look. “Um… is there anyway I could maybe… make a few payments toward the fee? I don’t have the full amount right now.”
Patti tilted her head, studying me for a moment. Then waved a hand like it was nothing. “Harper, please. This isn’t the NHL–we’re not exactly handing out million-dollar contracts. It’s kids’ hockey. We’ll figure it out.”
I blinked at her, caught between relief and the urge to laugh.
She leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Season’s already started, so there’s no sense charging you full price anyway. Pay what you can, when you can. The important thing is that Connor’s out there on the ice.”
The relief hit so hard I almost sagged in the chair. I let out a shaky laugh, pressing the form closer as if finishing it quickly might make the ground stop shifting under me.
By the time I stepped out of Patti’s office, the air had shifted–cooler now, sharper, tinged with that unmistakable rink smell of ice and rubber. The heavy Zamboni doors groaned shut at the far end, followed by the clang of the gates swinging open. A sharp voice echoed through the arena, calling instructions to the boys as they filed toward the ice for warm-up.
The kids were just stepping onto the ice as I pushed through the door. Connor was among them, moving with an ease that tugged at something deep in me. No hesitation–just smooth,confident strides like the rink belonged to him. His stick tapped the ice, his movements sharp and sure, and when he spotted me watching, he lifted a hand in a small wave. His grin spread wide, bright enough to reach me all the way from the boards. It was contagious.
My gaze drifted past him, toward the tall figure standing at center ice. I assumed he was the coach–broad-shouldered and towering over the kids, his stance commanding without even trying. A whistle hung against his chest, the sharp sound of his voice bouncing off the boards as he barked out directions. Red hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, a messy contrast to the navy track jacket and joggers he wore, the kind of uniform that marked him as someone in charge.
At first glance, the scowl etched across his face made him look all business, intense enough that I wondered how the younger kids didn’t quake in their skates under that glare. But when one of the boys skated over and said something I couldn’t hear, the hardness cracked. His mouth broke into a grin, sudden and bright, his laugh carrying easily across the rink. He shook his head, amused, and gave the boy a playful nudge back toward the line.
“Careful, if you stare too long you’ll catch the scowl. It’s contagious.”
I turned, startled, and found Nina leaning casually against the boards, her chestnut hair was pulled into a loose braid, a grey sweater half-tucked into her jeans, and a puffy jacket hanging open. Her honey brown eyes sparkled with mischief, lips curbed into a sly grin as she followed my line of sight.
Heat crept up my neck, and I couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped. “I don’t understand how he goes from that scowl to laughing like that.”
“I don’t understand anything about what Shane does,” she said. Then she tipped her head toward the stands. “Come on, sit with me. You don’t have to stand here and hide.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
Nina arched a brow, her smirk deepening. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. I would be hiding too if I were you. Any fresh blood in this town and the locals will be all over you.” She let the words hang a beat before adding, with exaggerated gallantry, “Don’t worry, though–I’ll protect you.”
Her grin widened when I laughed again, the tension in my chest loosening just a little as I followed her toward the stands.
We found seats halfway up, the metal cold even through my jeans. Nina tossed her jacket beside her and stretched out, comfortable as if the rink was her second home.
We spent most of the practice talking, our voices low and easy, slipping from everyday chatter to gossip to stories about the kids. I hardly noticed the drills on the ice until Connor caught my attention–his sharp turns, quick hands, the way he cut across the rink like he’d been born on skates. My chest swelled every time I caught him doing something smooth, confident,his.
From a few rows back, I could hear murmurs ripple through the crowd.
“Who’s the new kid?”
“He’s good.”
“Natural out there.”
I tried not to eavesdrop, but the words wrapped around me like warmth, pride rising fast enough to sting my eyes. Connor was more than good. He was something special.
Nina nudged me at one point, her gaze flicking toward the ice. “There are usually two coaches out there…” She went on, though her words blurred into the background.
