"Like I said earlier, private team scrimmage," he explained, eyes twinkling as he looked at Casey. "And we need someone very important to drop the ceremonial first puck."
"Me?" Casey's voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Who else?" Easton leaned against the boards, eye level with her now. "The team's honorary member has to do it. It's tradition."
Casey's face flickered with apprehension when she looked past Easton to the gleaming ice surface beyond. Her breathing quickened slightly, as if fighting the urge to step back.
"You don't have to go far," Easton said softly, clearly having noticed her hesitation too. His voice softened. "Just a couple of steps from the gate. And I'll be right there with you the whole time. I won't let go of your hand unless you tell me to."
Casey looked up at me, uncertainty written all over her face.
"Your choice, baby," I said quietly. "No one will be disappointed if you're not ready."
She bit her lip and then looked back at Easton. "Okay," she said, her voice stronger now. "I can do it."
"That's my girl," I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice.
A young man in a suit appeared with a gleaming black puck. The silver team logo caught the arena lights, making it look almost magical. He crouched down to Casey's level with an encouraging smile.
"This is a special puck," he told her. "It's got your name engraved on the bottom. See?" He turned it over to show her.
Casey Honors - Honorary Shadow Wolf
Casey's eyes went wide, and she took the puck with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.
"Ready for your big moment?" he asked.
She nodded, clutching the puck to her chest.
We helped Casey onto the ice, and I held my breath as she took those first tentative steps. Her skates touched the frozen surface, and her whole body went rigid. Her free hand clutched at my jacket, and for a second, I thought she might bolt.
Then Easton was there, offering his gloved hand.
"I've got you, kiddo," he said, his voice calm and sure. "Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise.”
Casey looked at his outstretched hand for a long moment. The war between her fear and trust was written on her face.
Finally, slowly, she placed her small hand in his much larger one.
"That's it," Easton encouraged. "Just like that. Now, we're going to skate together, nice and easy. You set the pace."
They started moving, and I stayed at the gate, watching my daughter conquer her fear one glide at a time. Easton matched her pace perfectly, never rushing her, his protective presence radiating calm.
As they made their way to center ice, the other players formed a loose circle around them. Then, as if on some unspoken cue, they began tapping their sticks against the ice in a slow, steady rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound echoed through the arena, building in intensity. It was a salute, a welcome, an acknowledgment of Casey's bravery—the traditional hockey greeting for someone who'd earned respect.
Casey's head snapped up, her eyes wide with wonder. The fear that had tightened her features melted away, replaced by something that looked like awe.
At center ice, Beck Hamilton and another player positioned themselves, sticks ready. Casey stood between them, looking impossibly small beside these professional athletes. Easton released her hand but stayed close, ready to catch her if she faltered.
"Whenever you're ready," Beck told her gently.
Casey looked at the puck in her hands with her name engraved on the bottom, making her part of something bigger than herself. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders one more time, and held the puck high.
Then she dropped it between the two sticks.
