“Dad! Look how fast I can go!” Hailey glided past him, her eight-year-old frame moving with an effortless grace that reminded him so much of Kate. She’d inherited her mother’s natural athleticism, something Kate had never gotten to see.
“Looking good, Hails!” he called after her, watching as she executed a near-perfect hockey stop, ice spraying up in a crystalline fan. “Just remember to keep your stick down when you’re showing the little ones later.”
Behind him, the double doors swung open. Maddie walked in, clipboard clutched to her chest, nine-year-old face serious as she studied what looked like elaborate diagrams. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wore a miniature version of his coaching jacket with “Assistant Coach” embroidered on the back — her Christmas present last year.
“I reorganized the practice plan,” she announced, not bothering with hello. Pure Maddie. “The zigzag drill was taking too long last time, so I thought maybe we could do the relay race first? It gets them warmed up faster.”
Liam fought a smile. “Is that right, Coach Maddie?”
She nodded solemnly. “Time management is essential for effective skill development. That’s what your coaching book says.”
This time he did smile. “Can’t argue with that logic.” He took the clipboard, scanning her neat handwriting. She’d color-coded the drills and added little stick figures demonstrating proper form. “This is really good, Mads. You might put me out of a job.”
She beamed, and for a split second, he saw flashes of both Kate and Sunny in her expression — Kate’s focused determination softened by Sunny’s warmth. His heart swelled. It had taken time, but his oldest daughter had blossomed under Sunny’s nurturing presence, the quiet, wary child transforming into this confident girl who believed in herself.
“DADDY!” A high-pitched voice echoed through the rink. “HELP!”
Liam turned to see Beth, their longtime housekeeper and now part-time babysitter, attempting to guide a wobbling Ethan onto the ice. His two-year-old son’s tiny skates seemed to be moving in opposing directions, his little arms windmilling wildly. The custom jersey Sunny had made him — “Coach Dad” emblazoned on the back — hung almost to his knees.
“I got him,” Liam called, skating over. He crouched down to Ethan’s eye level. “Hey, buddy. Ready to try again?”
Ethan’s face — so much like Sunny’s it was startling sometimes — scrunched in concentration. “Ice slippy, Daddy.”
“That’s the idea, bud.” Liam gently took his mittened hands. “Remember what we practiced at home? Marching penguins.”
Ethan immediately began exaggeratedly lifting his feet, a determined look on his face. “March, march, march,” he chanted.
“There you go. Just like that.”
Beth mouthedthank youand retreated to the stands, where she pulled out her knitting. She’d threatened retirement twice now but seemed perfectly content to keep working part-time for their family.“Where else would I find this much entertainment?”she’d said when Sunny had delicately broached the subject last year.
Liam guided Ethan slowly around the edge of the rink, the boy’s initial uncertainty gradually giving way to delighted giggles. Over Ethan’s head, he caught sight of Sunny entering through the side door, a tray of coffee cups balanced in one hand, her free arm wrapped around a stack of sports gear. Even after three years of marriage, the sight of her still made his breath catch. Today she wore her hair pulled up in a messy bun, wisps framing her face, her cheeks pink from the early spring chill.
“Mommy!” Ethan called out, momentarily forgetting his precarious balance and pitching forward. Liam caught him easily.
“Eyes forward, buddy. We’ll see Mommy in a minute.”
As they completed their slow circuit, Liam found himself reflecting on how much had changed. Three years ago, he couldn’t have imagined this life — coaching youth hockey instead of chasing another championship, spending evenings at home instead of on the road, being present for every milestone. The decision to retire had been surprisingly easy in the end. His final season had been good — not great — and he’d known it was time.
Gerald Parker had made good on his offer of a coaching position, but Liam had surprised everyone by turning it down in favor of youth development.“Real kids are more coachable than millionaire prima donnas,”he’d told the disappointed team owner.
Some days he missed the rush of professional competition, the roar of the crowd. But those moments paled in comparison to watching Maddie nail her first slap shot, or seeing Hailey’s face light up when she mastered a new skill, or this — Ethan’s first real time on the ice, wobbly but determined.
As they approached the bench where Sunny was organizing youth gear, Liam felt a familiar swell of gratitude. How close he’d come to losing all this — his second chance, his expanded family, the healing he’d found after Kate. The thought made him instinctively tighten his grip on Ethan’s hand.
“Owwie, Dada,” Ethan protested. “You squish my fingers.”
“Sorry, bud.” Liam loosened his hold, the memory of those dark days receding as Sunny looked up and smiled at them.
“There’s my favorite boys,” she exclaimed. “How’s it going, rookie?”
“I march like pengeens!” Ethan announced proudly, demonstrating his technique with renewed vigor.
“I can see that.” Sunny handed Liam a coffee cup. “Black with one sugar, Coach Anderson.”
Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and even after three years of marriage, the simple touch sent a current through him. “Thanks,” he murmured, allowing himself a moment to take her in. She looked tired this morning, shadows under her eyes that her concealer hadn’t quite hidden. She’d been up late the past few nights working on expansion plans for her childcare business, which had grown from an idea to a thriving operation.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
