A whistle blows. Line change.
My eyes drift automatically to the bench, scanning.
And then I see her.
Tara Lorimer.
Still here.
She’s crouched beside a player, taping something quickly and efficiently. Hair pulled back. Same quiet focus I remember from years ago.
Something tightens in my chest.
Not everything disappeared when my dad did.
My gaze shifts.
And lands on him.
Coach Caden Calloway.
Standing exactly where my dad used to stand.
One hand braced against the boards, watching. Focused in a way that tells me he’s tracking every mistake before it happens.
He’s good.
You don’t bring a struggling program back to this level by accident.
But it’s not enough. There’s a difference between being good and being seasoned, and Calloway hasn’t got the experience.
Whatever he’s trying isn’t enough.
Not yet.
Because I can see it - the gap between what this team is and what it could be.
The puck drops again.
Play accelerates.
The opposing team breaks out fast - three-on-two.
“Step up,” I murmur under my breath.
The defenceman doesn’t.
The pass cuts across the slot.
The shot is low and hard.
Chen drops instantly but it’s too quick and too well placed.
It’s a goal.
The tiny away section of the crowd erupts.
I sink back slightly, pulse still quick.
