I snap around.Joey—
But he’s already digging into my sweater pocket like a raccoon.He pulls out my phone, unlocks it with the ease of a child who has absolutely zero respect for personal boundaries, and shoves it into Sidney’s waiting hand.
Here you go!Joey beams, proud of himself.She has no time to text people, so you gotta text her first.
I want the ice to crack open so I can take a running leap into that void and have it swallow me into an alternate dimension.Sidney doesn’t move though.Probably too stunned by my traitor of a son.He just holds the phone loosely, eyes lifting to mine for permission.When he tilts his head, as if to say a silentplease, I give in.There’s no other option.
It disarms me more than the request itself.I swallow, and my stomach flips.My feet feel rooted to the floor.
Finally, with a tiny sigh of surrender—because saying no in front of my starstruck son feels impossible—I give a reluctant nod.
Sidney’s smile spreads slowly, lighting up his whole face.He types in his number, saves it, then types something else out before handing the phone back with a softThere.No pressure, but I will text first.
I look at my screen and see that he’s texted himself, so he now has my number too.Joey practically levitates beside me, grinning so hard his cheeks wobble.Mom, you have Sidney Crane’s number,he whisper-yells beside me.He reaches to adjust my phone so he can see the contact name and gasps.
Okay, that’s enough,I say, redirecting his face toward the concession stand before he explodes.
Sidney chuckles, sliding his helmet under his arm.I should get back out there.
Right,I say, my voice an octave too high.
It was really good seeing you, Eddie.
You too.
He starts to turn away, then glances back for one last look, eyes sweeping over me as if he wants to say something else but decides against it.
Talk soon,he says softly.
And then he’s gone, following a line of kids back onto the ice, all of them wearing matching gleeful smiles.I stand there gripping my phone, heart pounding, Rhonda’s words buzzing faintly in the back of my mind.
Because suddenly, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something enormous.
A cliff.A terrifying, dizzying shift I hadn’t prepared for.
And I’m not sure whether I’m about to fall…or find new ground to stand on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SIDNEY
The sound of pucks smacking against the boards echoes through the arena, sharp and familiar—like a heartbeat I’ve known my whole life.Training camp has officially kicked off, and somehow, the entire place smells like a mix of sweat, tape, and determination.
Home sweet home.
I sit on the bench, tightening the straps on my leg pads, waiting for Mason to show up so we can catch up through the warm-up like usual.The locker room feels weird without him this morning.It’s not like him to be late to practice.Especially when training camp has us forced together for a little over two weeks.
Mason, the Nighthawks’ leading defenseman, isn’t the loudest of the team, but he has presence on the ice.Not like our captain, Max, who is a walking megaphone and a constant source of chaos.Mason being missing for morning drills is, well, a red flag.
I scan the ice.
Forwards everywhere.Defensemen pairing off.A few rookies still look like anxious deer in the headlights.But no Mason.I frown, adjusting the last clip on my pads.
Hey,someone says behind the boards.Max leans against the glass with his elbows hooked over the top, helmet flipped up, expression serious.Looking for Mason?he asks.
Yeah.Where is he?Did he oversleep?I smirk.Did his new lady love finally smother him with a pillow?
Max doesn’t smile back.Oh.That’s not good.Max always has a quick smile.
