I feel it in my fucking soul.
He really is mine.
“Look at me, Coach Harrison!” he shouts, spinning with a wide grin.
“Impressive!” I call back, feeling a smile tug at the corners of my lips. “You’re a natural, kid!”
“Just like my dad!”
Fuck.
He skates toward me, cheeks flushed and breathing hard. “Can you show me some of your moves? The ones you did during the scrimmage?”
Every nerve in my body tingles at the request. “You want me to show you?”
“Yeah! You can teach me.” Connor’s voice rings out through the rink, buoyant and full of anticipation. It hits me right in the chest, and for a fleeting moment, I forget how twisted my emotions are.
“Alright, I’ll show you a move,” I say, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the thought of sharing this moment with him. “But you’ve got to promise to watch closely.”
“I promise!” he replies eagerly, practically bouncing on his skates. There’s so much of me in this kid it’s almost overwhelming.
I step onto the ice, my skates gliding easily over the surface, muscles warming up like I’ve just stepped back into my element. It feels good. Almost too good. I’m reminded of the countless hours I spent on these same rinks, dreaming of moments like this. But this one? Sharing it with my son?
This hits different.
This is new.
This is…everything.
“First, you need to get the puck under control,” I say, picking one up and demonstrating how to handle it, flicking it back and forth between my stick and my feet. “Once you have control, you can get creative with it. You have to keep your body low, stay balanced, and then when you’re ready…” I spin and fire the puck across the ice, it glides smoothly, landing perfectly in the net. “There! Now you try.”
His excitement is contagious as he races toward the puck, determination radiating off him. I can’t help but laugh as he stumbles a little, his skates wobbling but never fully giving in. There’s something about watching him out here that feels right, like a light that finally comes on after years of darkness.
“Like this?” he asks, crouching down to grab the puck, and I nod, pride swelling in my chest.
“Exactly! You got it! Now show me what you can do!”
He grins, and I watch as he pushes himself off the ice, gaining speed, his movements awkward at first. Seeing him out there, fumbling just a little even with the amount of talent he has, reminds me of my younger self, the kid who’d skate circles around the rink dreaming of the NHL.
“Like this, right?” he shouts, his voice ringing with excitement as he starts to gain some speed. I can’t help but chuckle as he attempts to maintain control, his little legs wobbling and arms flailing like he’s trying to balance on a tightrope.
“Exactly like that!” I call back, my heart swelling more with every stride he takes. “Now remember to keep your stick low! You’re doing great!”
He nods vigorously, and I can see the gears turning in his head, absorbing everything I’m telling him. It’s what we call “the magic moment”, that first taste of independence on the ice, that feeling of being free and limitless. Like you can literally do anything.
And for him, it’s just beginning.
He looks back at me, eyes wide with excitement as he glides—mostly—but then he stumbles, catching himself just in time.
“Was that a slip?” I tease, raising my brow. “You’ve got to work on that balance if you want to keep up with me.”
“I’m fine! Just testing the ice!” he retorts, bouncing back to his feet as if the minor fall was part of the plan.
I can’t stop smiling at his energy. He’s so full of life, just like I was at his age, and I wish I could bottle this moment up forever. But then reality hits me like a freight train, crashing into my gut with a sickening twist. I’m not just a random coach out here with a talented kid; I’m standing with my son. My ten-year-old son, who looks like he jumped straight from my past and into my present. I can’t shake the thought that if this is all true, then I’ve missed some of the best years of his life, and that’s a weight I’ll carry for a long time.
The ice is louder than usual after Pucks & Blades, skates scraping, sticks clattering, parents chatting along the boards, but all of it is just static humming in my ears. Because Harper is here.
Again.
