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“Hey, Downsby,” I say as he skates past me, he tries to body slam me, but I don’t budge. Instead, I laugh and give him a playful shove. The laughter makes my throat feel warm and rumbly. It feels almost foreign to me, and I wonder when was the last time I really laughed?

Noah heads straight for the pucks and starts shooting them towards the net. While he’s preoccupied I skate over to where the woman who brought him is standing.

“Someone called in sick at work today and Andie took their shift at the last minute,” she explains, giving me a hesitant smile. “I’m Ronda, by the way.”

I tip my chin to acknowledge her introduction. “Mitch.”

One side of her mouth pulls up in a humorless smile. “I know who you are, young man.”

“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Indeed it does,” she says simply, then turns and takes a seat on the bench nearby.

Wow. This woman who is probably a hundred pounds lighter and a foot shorter than me, somehow made me feel small. I have an inkling her cold attitude isn’t because she thinks she’s better than me, so much as a silent statement that she will find me and kill me if I do anything to hurt Andie or Noah. And I can respect her for that.

I blow out a breath and catch up with Noah. He shoots me a puck and I shoot it into the net easily, seeing as we don’t have a goalie.

“Ready to work?”

“Always,” he says, then quirks his lips like he’s deep in thought. “Well, when it comes to hockey, anyway.”

I chuckle. Since when do I chuckle?

Me and Noah spend the next half hour going through defensive drills, Noah acts as defenseman and I try to get the puck past him.

Then we work on his slap shot, which is more challenging for him. In only half an hour, I’ve discovered he’s much chattier one-on-one. Another thing we have in common, I suppose. After a full hour of drills, I can tell he’s starting to get frustrated.

He enjoys the defensive work way more than scoring goals. Finally, I hold my gloved hands in a T for timeout. He rolls his eyes and skates toward me.

“You wanna know something I learned… recently?” I catch myself before I say the words in therapy.

He quirks an eyebrow, but I continue anyway.

“When you start feeling pissed, like all you wanna do is give someone a bloody nose… inhale for seven seconds, and then–”

“Exhale for eleven seconds.” He looks at me like I’m a moron. “I already know that. Learned it in therapy.”

My eyes widen, not because he’s in therapy, but because he’s talking about it. Here I am, almost thirty years old, and even I’m embarrassed for anyone to know I'm in therapy. “You’re… in therapy?”

He huffs out a laugh at my surprised reaction. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal. Andie says everyone needs therapy… She found a therapist for me right after our parents died.”

He sombers, like he’s thinking back to that day. I wonder how long ago it happened, how they died, but I don’t push.

“Everyone needs therapy though, right?”

He skates away and starts working on his shot again. “Right,” I mutter to myself, feeling like an idiot. Noah is braver and more mature at eleven than I am at twenty-eight.

I study him with a newfound respect and… affection? This boy still has his whole life ahead of him, and he lost his parents. They won’t get to see him graduate, possibly make it to the AHL or NHL if he keeps working hard, and he’s processing grief similar to what I had to.

Something deep inside me aches for him… not my heart though, that thing has been dead for a while.

“You’re not going to start crying are you?” Noah asks, pulling me out of my stupor.

“No,” I scoff.

“It’s okay if you do, I won’t laugh,” Noah offers, then adds, “That’s what Andie always tells me anyway. But I might laugh a little if you cry.”

I shake my head and he grins. “So, what else have you learned in therapy? Anything good?”