“For now, yeah. Everyone needs a chance in life. If I can help in some small way, I will.”
There was a dark note in his tone, and I frowned, watching as he removed his skates from his sports bag. A slide of goosebumps rushed over my skin, and I shivered from the cold and being so close to the ice rink. I rubbed my arms.
War had on a long sleeve Henley. He probably didn’t feel the cold like me. At my clattering teeth, he glanced at me, then he pulled out a Cheetahs’ hoodie in black and gold, with his number under the team’s name on the front and his name at the back. “Here. Put this on.”
“N-next time, I will make sure to carry a sweater,” I stuttered, making him grin.
“Ah. There’s hope then—”
“Eli?” someone called out, interrupting.
War glanced back, and I did, too. A lanky, older man jogged down the steps to us, a smile lightening his tan, weathered features, forming deeper lines at the corner of his eyes.
“I watched out for you,” he said, hugging War as if he hadn’t seen him in ages. His gaze settled on me.
“I would have been in sooner,” War said, “but I got waylaid.”
“Yes, the fans. I know.” The man smiled, his attention back on War. “But your name draws more kids to want to give hockey a shot.”
War nodded, then said, “Caleb, I’d like you to meet Charlotte Jones, my girlfriend. Blue, this is Caleb Harris, my foster father.”
I shot to my feet, still clutching the hoodie in my icy fingers, and shook the hand Caleb held out.
“Hello, Charlotte. Good lord, child,” he said, concern in his brown eyes. “Your hands are freezing. Put that on. And it’s a pleasure to meet you.” His smile was warm.
“And m-mine, too, Mr. Harris.” Then I hurriedly pulled on the garment, trying to stave off the cold. Superwoman, I wasn’t. I hastily tucked my icy hands under my armpits, snuggling in War’s fleece that smelled faintly of him.
He laughed. I probably looked like a polar bear, swallowed by the huge hoodie. I didn’t care.
“Call me Caleb,” he said then.
I smiled and nodded.
While War appeared a little more reserved than normal, those gorgeous blues remained on Caleb and me for a second longer before he sat next to me again, toed off his sneakers, and put on his skates. Clearly, he cared a lot about his foster father.
He rose, whistle in hand. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
As War clomped off, looking intimidatingly taller than usual, Caleb sat next to me, unsettling me. This man might not share DNA with War but he was his father, and I was tongue-tied.
War skated to the middle, blew his whistle, and the raucous noise and grumbling fell away, leaving only silence behind as he spoke to the kids gathering around him.
Several taller kids surrounded War, and I frowned. “Won’t it be dangerous with older kids playing the younger ones?” I asked Caleb.
“Oh, no,” he said hastily. “They just want to hear him. Their session is next. He coaches both.”
Moments later, the older kids glided off, and War dropped the puck. Some of the little ones rushed for the black vulcanized rubber like it was a bag of candies. A few slid to their bottoms and remained there. The supervising adult got them back on their feet, and one of the kids sent the puck swishing along the ice.
After several seconds of silence, Caleb murmured, “Some of these kids need all the encouragement they can get—” he broke off, his gaze fixed on the rink. “He hasn’t had it easy.”
My heart tripped. “What do you mean?”
I figured War was orphaned at a young age to be fostered, but there was so much in those few words Caleb uttered.
Those quiet brown eyes met mine. “Did Eli not tell you anything about his rise to fame?”
Heat crept up my neck to my face. “Well, I don’t watch or know anything about hockey or sports in general. Not a fan.” I scrunched my nose. “Too much violence.” Caleb laughed. “But he did tell me you encouraged him to play hockey when he was young, and that’s how his love for the game started and that he helps with the summer camp.”
“That is so like him.” His smile lingered. His affection for War clear in his thoughtful expression. “Always understating things. He sponsors and runs the summer hockey program. He wants the kids—especially those from foster homes, the underprivileged—to have a chance in life.”
