Page 184 of Almost Ours
Ryan crouched down and pulled Connor into another tight hug, his jaw clenched like he was fighting for control.
“Gonna miss you too, kiddo,” he murmured. “So much.”
When they finally pulled apart, Ryan stood, his eyes meeting mine. There was so much unsaid that it physically hurt to look at him.
This was it. This was goodbye.
“Well,” he said, his voice low, “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of months.”
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light, even though my chest felt like it was caving in. “Take care of yourself.”
He hesitated for a moment, like there was more he wanted to say. Instead, he gave me a small nod and turned toward the door.
I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders tense under his jacket, and my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. No. I couldn’t let him leave like this.
“Wait!” The word burst from me before I even realized I’d spoken it.
Ryan froze, his hand on the doorknob, and turned back toward me with a questioning look. Without thinking, I ran after him, my feet carrying me across the room until I was standing right in front of him.
And then I hugged him. Hard.
At first, he seemed stunned, his arms stiff at his sides. But then he wrapped them around me, pulling me close, and I felt him inhale deeply. Like he was trying to memorize the way I smelled. I tried to keep it short, to be strong, but the moment his arms tightened around me, I melted.
This was my safe space. My person. I loved him so much it hurt, and I didn’t know how I was supposed to let him go. There were a million things I wanted to say–to tell him how sorry I was, how stupid I’d been, and that I loved him more than anything.
I couldn’t. Not now. Not when he was leaving.
Instead, I forced myself to pull back, even though it felt like ripping my heart out. I looked up at him, tears brimming in my eyes.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whispered. My voice wavered, but I pushed through. “Connor’s going to be okay. You deserve this opportunity, Ryan. You’ve worked so hard for it, and you should be excited. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. And I meant what I said–you’ll always be a part of Connor’s life. The two of you canFaceTime, and…” My voice broke, and I had to pause to collect myself. “We’ll figure it out.”
He looked at me like he wanted to say something, his jaw working, his eyes searching mine. But instead of prolonging the agony for both of us, I forced myself to step back.
“Goodbye, Ryan,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with so much emotion it was almost unbearable. “Goodbye, Harper.”
And then he turned and walked out the door.
I stood there for a moment, watching him climb into his truck and drive away. Each second felt like a piece of me was being torn apart.
Please come back.
When the truck disappeared down the street, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, the weight of everything crashing down on me. Tears spilled over as I slid to the floor, my hands trembling.
Connor’s voice drifted from his room, soft and cheerful as he hummed to himself, completely oblivious to the storm inside me. I pressed my face against the door, the sobs shaking my body.
I’d let him leave. And now all I could do was hope that someday, somehow, I’d get the chance to make things right.
The sun dippedlow on the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the rink as I laced up my skates. The hum of activity around me had become as familiar as breathing–the kids’ voices shouting encouragement, pucks clattering against the boards, and the rhythmic scrape of blades on ice. We were at the Port Camden Arena, a good four hours from Brookhaven.
Six weeks. Six weeks of sweat, drills, and more hockey than I thought I’d be a part of again after leaving the NHL. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.
The coaching staff here was exceptional–dedicated, passionate, and full of the kind of energy that made even the hardest days enjoyable. We spent hours together every day, planning drills, running practices, and strategizing for the upcoming season. Despite the intensity, I hadn’t gotten tired of any of them. It felt like being on a team again, a feeling I hadn’t realized I missed so much.
It wasn’t just about the staff, either. The kids were incredible–hardworking, eager to learn, and more talented than they even knew. Watching them improve day by day, seeing theirconfidence grow, was its own reward. We had some as young as fifteen at the camp, all the way to twenty-five.
One kid, Tyler, reminded me a little of myself at his age–quiet but determined, always watching, always learning. He’d been struggling with his slap shot when I arrived, and last week, he finally nailed it perfectly in a scrimmage. The grin on his face afterward? Worth every second I’d spent working with him.
