"Mom says I can practice for thirty minutes before homework," she announced, pulling on her skates. "Will you both help me with my passing?"
"Absolutely," I said.
Beck grabbed a stick from the pile by the garage. "I haven't played street hockey in years. This'll be fun."
The early evening air was crisp, perfect hockey weather. Casey's driveway was longer than most, with a hockey net set up at one end and smooth concrete perfect for street hockey.
"Okay," I said. "Show us what you've got."
For the next half hour, we ran through drills. Beck and I fell into an easy rhythm, with the same chemistry we had on the ice translating perfectly to teaching a six-year-old.
"The thing about passing," I explained as we worked on give-and-goes, "is that it's not just about getting rid of the puck. It's about trusting your teammate to do something with it."
"Like when you passed to Beck in the playoffs last year," Casey said, executing a decent pass to Beck. "Everyone thought you were gonna shoot, but you passed instead, and he scored!"
Beck trapped her pass and sent it back. "You watch every game, huh?"
"Every single one," Casey admitted, concentrating on her next pass to me. "I notice stuff. Like how you and Beck always do the same thing after faceoffs."
Beck and I exchanged a look. "She's got a good eye," Beck said.
"The best play isn't always the selfish play," I told Casey, sending the puck back to her. She trapped it cleanly. "You're paying close attention."
Casey grinned. "Mom says I watch too much. But I think if you wanna be good at something, you gotta study it. Right?"
"Right," Beck agreed. "That's exactly how you get better."
We continued practicing, with Beck and me trading off. One of us worked with Casey while the other played defender or goalie.
"You're a natural at reading the ice," Beck told her during a water break. "Most kids your age just chase the puck. You're actually thinking ahead."
"Grandpa Coach always says hockey is like chess," Casey said, taking a sip from her water bottle. "You gotta think ahead."
"Correct," I said, catching Palisade watching from the doorway. “Always keep your eye on the queen.” When I glanced her way, something glistened in her eyes.
"One more drill?" Casey asked hopefully.
"One more," Beck and I said in unison.
As we ran through a final passing sequence, I found myself not wanting it to end. The sound of the puck against our sticks,Casey's determined expression, and Beck's calm presence made everything feel natural.
When had I become this person? The guy who looked forward to Wednesday evenings in a suburban driveway, teaching hockey basics to a six-year-old with my best friend?
"Perfect!" Casey exclaimed, making a clean pass to Beck. "Did you see that?"
"I saw it," Beck said. "You're getting fantastic, kid."
"Come on," I said. "Let's get you inside before your mom thinks we've kept you out here all night."
Inside, Palisade was loading the dishwasher. Casey headed straight for the stairs, still chattering about the perfect pass she'd made.
"Homework!" Palisade called after her.
Before Casey disappeared upstairs to start her homework, she gave Beck a hug and thanked him, clutching the coloring book to her chest. Palisade excused herself to help Casey get started, leaving Beck and me in the living room.
Beck was studying the photos on the mantel. Casey at various ages, Palisade and Holly at what looked like a college graduation, a family photo with Palisade’s parents.
"So," Beck said without turning around. "How long have you been in love with her?"
