The Post-it wall is still there, a colorful monument to all the work we did together. I should probably take it down eventually—it’s served its purpose, taught him what he needed to learn.
But not today.
Today, I’ll let it stand as a reminder of how we got here. The exercises, the challenges, the slow dismantling of walls we both built to protect ourselves.
We started as project and subject. Somewhere in the middle, without either of us noticing, we became partners.
That’s its own kind of success.
My phone buzzes again.
Bennett:Made it to practice. Shep gave me a standing ovation. I hate him.
Shep:CAP IS IN LOVE AND WE’RE GOING TO THE PLAYOFFS. THESE THINGS ARE RELATED.
Bennett:Focus on hockey Sawyer.
Shep:I AM. Love makes us better. Science.
I read Shep’s message three times. Then I look at the Post-it wall and think about the timeout game, about Bennett calling the play, about Shep skating his WOOOOO lap with road flares while the crowd lost its mind.
Shep is not wrong. That’s the most alarming thing about him.
I smile at the screen.
Bennett:I repeat. I hate him.
Me:You love him.
Bennett:I tolerate him. There’s a difference.
Me:Sure there is.
Bennett:I love YOU. That’s the important part.
The words—casual, confident, unhedged—make my chest tight in the best way.
Me:I love you too. Now go play hockey. I’ll see you Sunday.
Bennett:Sunday. Mom’s. 6 PM. Wear something that can survive Foster family chaos.
Me:I’ve been surviving Foster family chaos for years.
Bennett:Now you’ll be surviving it officially.
I set down the phone.
He’s right.
I can handle anything.
Especially this.
Four wins. That’s what they need. Four wins and they’re in the playoffs for the first time in three years.
Bennett is going to get them there. I know this the way I know his coffee order and his nervous tics and the specific look on his face when he’s finally letting himself feel something.
The team is going to make the playoffs.
