We stay until the air bites our cheeks and the first drops of rain start to fall. When we go back inside, the door clicks shut. My eyes stay on Oakley Kate, right where they belong.
Epilogue: Oakley Kate
The rink feels bright and loud as light bounces off the ice and kids’ laughter fills the space. A few weeks have passed since my contract was finalized and the acceptance email hit my inbox. Steele Valley has settled into its usual rhythm—practice schedules, training sessions, and my new badge clipped to my jacket:Oakley Taylor – Athletic Trainer.
Our mornings run smoother now. Silas heads to practice, Aubrey chases toast crumbs with her orange juice, and I stretch my ankle before putting on my shoes. Nothing dramatic—just a family figuring things out.
Today is Little Volts Day, and kids from all over the area are getting a rare shot at hockey in the South. Thorn pretends he wasn’t the one who organized the whole event. Hannah’s taking photos for the team socials. The rink smells like cocoa, cold air, and a hint of something sweet drifting from the concession table.
I’m on the bench tying skates for a kid whose gloves swallow his hands. Silas is out on the ice, gliding backward in that calm, easy way that still earns cheers. Aubrey’s wobbling along on hernew skates, knees bent, tongue out, heading toward a cluster of players’ kids.
“Bend, bug,” Silas calls. “Bend, don’t stiffen!”
“I’m bending!” she shouts back, part indignation, part joy.
“She actually is bending,” Thorn says beside me, taking a sip of coffee.
“That’s because she’s stubborn,” I reply.
He laughs. “Wonder where she gets that.”
“Guilty.”
Aubrey finally reaches Silas and grabs his glove like she just won a medal. He grins down at her, and for once, he’s not looking over his shoulder or scanning the room. He’s just happy.
Hannah snaps a picture. “This one’s going in the feature. Team Dad Edition.”
Silas rolls his eyes at me through the glass. I give him a wink.
When the session ends, the lights dim to a warm gold. Families drift toward the exit. Thorn rounds up a few stragglers while Hannah steals his coffee and walks off. Rooks skates a goofy lap with a toddler balanced on his stick, nearly wiping out at the boards.
I gather a few stray gloves and listen to the sound of blades fading.
Silas walks toward me, unhurried, holding Aubrey’s hand and carrying both helmets. “She scored a goal,” he says.
“It was an own goal,” Aubrey announces proudly, “but it still counts because it went in.”
“Hard to argue with physics,” I say. “We’re celebrating it.”
“Pizza?” she asks immediately.
“Definitely,” Silas and I say at the same time, and she lights up.
Hannah calls her goodbyes. Thorn gives Silas a quick salute that clearly meansYou did great. Aubrey’s already racing toward the stands, claiming she’ll beat me to the car.
Once she’s out the door, the rink goes quiet again. The compressors hum across the empty sheet.
Silas offers me his hand. “Come on. One lap.”
“Not in boots,” I say.
“Then just the line.”
I step onto the rubber mat we set down earlier. He glides out to center ice, turns, and waits for me. He’s patient in a way he never used to be.
I meet him at the edge of the mat. He reaches for my hand.
“Feels different, doesn’t it?” he asks.
