“I just—” I gesture at the notebook. “I can’t stop seeing possibilities here. Not problems. Not things to fix.”
Her shoulders loosen, just a fraction. “Okay.”
“That lodge,” I continue carefully, “could be incredible in the summer. Not huge camps. Not chaos. Intentional stuff. Skill-building. Confidence. Giving kids a place where they’re seen.”
She studies my notes more closely now. Not defensive. Curious.
“You’ve thought about this,” she says.
“I’ve been thinking about it since I stepped back on that ice.”
She leans back in her chair. “That makes sense.”
It does. More than my old life does right now.
She glances back over her shoulder. “Look, I’m going to have to get Scottie open in a bit. And I don’t think?—”
“It’s okay.” I give her a grin, though there’s a dull ache in my chest. “I’ll make myself scarce.”
I pull back to look into her eyes. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.” She relaxes slightly. “I’ll see you later.”
I kiss her good-bye and hope I can prove to her that I’ve meant everything I’ve said. That we can build something new from the old. Personally and professionally.
A few days later at the rink, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing at the edge of something important.
The rink is quieter than it was a few days ago, now that there are only two teams left standing, preparing for the final game in the tournament.
Scottie skates like she’s got something to prove today—not to anyone else, but to herself. I recognize that look. I’ve worn it.
Gina watches from the bleachers. She looks relaxed in a way she didn’t before. Still guarded, but not braced for impact.
I’d like to think spending a few days getting to know her daughter, and a few nights locked in passionate embraces, have helped to lower the guards she’s built up.
After practice, we walk out together, the air outside warm enough that jackets are optional.
“Scottie’s been talking about your team non-stop,” she tells me. “Apparently she thinks she’s running your first camp.”
I laugh. “I’d hire her if I knew there was a job to offer. Even if I know she’ll be gunning for my job in another year.”
She laughs. “You can count on that.”
Before I can respond to that, my phone buzzes in my pocket. The name on the screen makes my heart stop.
“I should take this,” I say.
She nods, already stepping back. “Of course.”
I answer with my heart in my throat.
“Dane,” the owner says. “We’ve made a decision.”
I close my eyes.
“We’re offering you a one-year renewal.”
Relief hits first. It’s followed almost immediately by regret.
