"There's going to be a next time?"
A small smile tugged at her lips. "We'll see."
Casey reappeared, hands dripping wet because she'd clearly rushed. "So, can Uncle Easton stay for dinner?"
"Casey—"
"Please, Mom? He brought Chinese food and everything! And I promise I'll do all my homework after and clean my room!"
"You're already supposed to do those things," Palisade pointed out, but her face softened like she couldn’t resist her daughter’s request.
"Just one dinner," I said. "To make up for ruining your day. Then I'll get out of your hair."
Palisade looked at Casey's hopeful face, then at me, and sighed in defeat. "Alright, you both win.” She raised an eyebrow. “One dinner. But Casey, you still have homework."
"I'll do it right after! I promise!" Casey grabbed my hand again. "Come on, Uncle Easton! We need to set the table!"
She dragged me toward the kitchen, chattering at light speed about how she couldn't believe a real NHL player was in her house, and this was better than Christmas, and did I know she watched every single Shadow Wolves game?
Palisade followed behind us, and when I glanced back at her, she was shaking her head, almost smiling.
Over the next hour, as we unpacked the Chinese food, Casey dominated the conversation. She asked me questions about training, game strategy, my favorite plays, and which teammates I was closest to. She knew every player on the team, their positions, their stats. Impressive how much this kid knew about hockey.
"You and Beck are my favorites!" Casey said, gesturing with her chopsticks. "He wins the faceoff thingy and gets you the puck, and then BAM!" She made a shooting motion. "You score! You guys always win together!"
"That's exactly right," I said, genuinely impressed. "Most kids your age don't pay attention to that stuff."
"Grandpa Coach taught me," Casey said proudly. "He says I gotta learn the whole game, not just skating. So, he teaches me plays and stuff."
"Your grandpa's a smart man."
Casey beamed. Then, her expression turned shy. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you think… I mean, is it dumb for a girl to want to play hockey? Some kids at school say girls can't be good at hockey."
I glanced at Palisade, who was observing the exchange. Then I looked back at Casey.
"Those kids don't know what they're talking about. Some of the best hockey players I've ever seen have been women. You know Hilary Knight? Kendall Coyne Schofield? They're incredible. Gender doesn't matter. Passion and skill do. And from what I can tell, you've got plenty of both."
Casey's face lit up as if I'd given her the Stanley Cup. "Really?"
"Really. If hockey's your dream, chase it. Never let anyone tell you that you can't do something because you're a girl. That's their limitation, not yours."
She threw her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug that nearly knocked over my water glass.
"Thank you," she whispered.
When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. Palisade watched us with something like pride mixed with pain, but her expression shuttered before I could ask about it.
After dinner, Casey dragged me upstairs to show me her room, despite Palisade's protests about homework.
"Just five minutes!" Casey pleaded. "I want to show him my collection!"
Her room was a shrine to hockey. Shadow Wolves pennants on the walls. A poster of the team above her desk. There was a carefully organized shelf of hockey cards, pucks, and memorabilia.
And in the corner, a full set of hockey gear that looked well-used.
