I pulled into Palisade's driveway and cut the engine, collecting my thoughts. Whatever was happening here, I needed to focus on the immediate problem. Casey was scared, and for whatever reason, Palisade thought I could help.
The porch light flicked on before I reached the door. Palisade opened it, her hair tousled from sleep, wearing flannel pajama pants and an oversized Amber Falls Veterinary College sweatshirt. Despite her exhaustion and worry, she possessed a beauty that unexpectedly captivated me.
"Thank you for coming," she said, stepping back to let me in. "I know it's late, but she was inconsolable, and when I mentioned you, she calmed down a little."
Something warm and unfamiliar expanded in my chest at her words. "Of course. Where is she?"
"In her room. She's still pretty upset."
Casey's room was awash in soft yellow light from a bedside lamp. She sat huddled against her headboard, knees drawn to her chest, clutching a well-worn stuffed penguin. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy; her cheeks were still wet with tears. When she saw me, her small face crumpled with fresh emotion.
"Uncle Easton!" she hiccupped, the title sending an odd pang through me. "I had a bad dream about the ice."
I sat on the edge of her bed, careful to give her space. "Your mom told me. That sounds really scary."
She nodded miserably. "I'm never going skating again. Or playing hockey. Ever."
I caught Palisade's worried glance from where she hovered in the doorway. This wasn't about a nightmare. It was about Casey potentially giving up something she loved because of fear. I knew that crossroads all too well.
"You know," I said carefully, "I've fallen through the ice before, too."
Casey's brow furrowed. "You have?"
"Yep. When I was a little older than you. I was skating on a pond behind my house, showing off some moves, and I went too close to the edge where the ice was thin."
It wasn't exactly the same as Casey's experience. I'd only gone in up to my waist before my father pulled me out, cursing at me the whole time for being stupid. But Casey didn't need to know that part.
"Were you scared?" Casey asked, her voice small.
"Terrified," I admitted. "I didn't want to go near the ice for weeks afterward."
"What made you go back?"
I smiled, thinking about it. "I realized something important. The ice wasn't my enemy. It was just ice, melting like it always does in certain spots. I needed to be smarter and more respectful of it. And I loved hockey too much to let fear take it away from me."
Casey considered this, her grip on the penguin loosening slightly. "But what if it happens again?"
"Then you'll know what to do. You'll be more careful about where you skate. You'll recognize the warning signs of thin ice. And you'll know that even if you fall, you can survive it." I leaned closer, catching her gaze. "You're one of the bravest people I know, Casey. Brave people still get scared. But they don't let fear stop them from doing what they love."
I wasn't sure if my words were getting through, but gradually, Casey's rigid posture relaxed. We talked more about hockey, about my own falls and injuries over the years, about how being afraid was normal, but letting fear win was something we could choose not to do.
Eventually, her eyelids drooped as exhaustion took over. As she drifted toward sleep, her small hand found mine, holding on with surprising strength.
"Can you stay until I'm asleep?"
"Of course I will, kiddo," I said, something protective and fierce swelling in my chest as I watched her.
As Casey's small body started to relax and sleep overtook her, gratitude and something more complex glimmered in their depths. In that moment, in the quiet, shadowed bedroom of a small girl, a powerful connection swelled within me. A deep sense of purpose, an unmatched feeling of being needed, far surpassing anything I'd known on the ice.
And I still had no idea why.
CHAPTER TEN
Palisade
Standing in the doorway, I watched Easton with Casey. My daughter's small hand was tucked in his much larger one, her breathing deep and even in sleep. The sight of them together brought a lump to my throat, thick with emotion I couldn't swallow past.
This was what I'd denied them both.
