He nods like she’s talking shop. “All true.”
I hate how natural he is with her.
I hate how easily he slips into this role, crouched slightly, engaged, like nothing else exists but the kid in front of him.
I hate how quickly my brain has jumped from being annoyed he’s back in town to thrilled he’s giving my daughter his undivided attention.
It makes it much harder to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t want him anywhere near my life.
“Mom,” Scottie says, tugging at my sleeve. “Coach says he can help me with a new move that can help our offense.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat now. “Can he now?”
“Yep. He says he can show it to me now.”
“I don’t know.” I dart a glance at the rest of the kids who are starting to pack up their gear. “Practice is over.”
“But mom. Can’t he?”
My stomach drops. “Scottie, he’s already giving enough of his time to help the team. We shouldn’t ask?—”
“It’s fine,” Dane says easily, straightening and glancing at me. “If that’s okay with you.”
For a split second, an irrational thought flashes through my mind—how easily this could have been our life if he hadn’t left. If I hadn’t gone with him.
I shove it away.
“A quick lesson is fine,” I say. “But we can’t be here much longer. It’s a school night, and I know someone who has homework.”
His smile softens, just a little. “I’ll keep it quick.”
As he turns back to Scottie, I watch them together—coach and player, mentor and kid—and try not to think about how dangerous it feels to let him back into our orbit.
Because I already know one thing for certain.
Dane’s presence is going to change everything. Again. No matter how long he’s in town, he’s going to turn my hard-fought world upside down.
Dane steps back onto the ice with the same ease he always has.
He doesn’t skate yet—just moves along the boards, pointing things out to Scottie as she follows his instructions. A small adjustment to her grip. A reminder to keep her knees bent. The tiniest shift in balance that makes an immediate difference.
She listens to him in a way that makes my chest ache.
I tell myself it’s because he’s a professional. Because kids respond to authority. Because this has nothing to do with the fact that he’s the man I once loved.
I fail spectacularly at convincing myself.
When he finally skates off and joins the other coaches near center ice, Scottie glides back toward me, flushed and smiling.
“Did you see that?” she says. “He showed me this trick where you sell the move before you make it.”
“I saw,” I say. “You looked good.”
Her grin widens. “He said I could come early tomorrow for a little one-on-one.”
My stomach flips. “Tomorrow?”
“He said he’d be here anyway.” She shrugs. “And he offered.”
