As the conversation shifts to Lilah’s and Rina’s pregnancies, stories and jokes weave together easily. I wrap my hands around my mug, allowing the warmth to seep into my palms.
It catches me off guard to realize I feel steadier than I have in a long time. Not because everything is solved or neatly tied up with a bow. There are still conversations I’m dreading, decisions I haven’t fully made peace with, a future unfolding faster than I ever anticipated. But sitting here, wrapped in laughter and the comfort of familiarity, the weight of it all feels lighter. I’m no longer bracing for impact or feel like I’m suffocating.
Part of that steadiness comes from this group of women and the way they didn’t flinch when I told them about the baby and the marriage. Instead of questioning my decision, they closed ranks without hesitation.
They didn’t ask for explanations or justifications.
They just welcomed me in.
And it’s exactly what I needed.
34
Laiken
The first shot of the morning slams into my blocker hard enough that the sting can be felt straight through the padding.
Good. I’m ready for it. I like it when the guys come in hot. It keeps me sharp. At this level, there’s no easing into practice. You either show up ready or you get cut.
“Rebound!” Knox yells as the puck ricochets off my arm and skitters loose across the crease.
River swoops in fast, going for it. I drop, seal the ice, and angle my pad just in time to knock it away before resetting my stance. Muscle memory and instinct take over. There aren’t any wasted movements.
The whistle blows in my head even if Coach hasn’t sounded it yet.
Steele crashes the crease next. There’s no chirping or hesitation from him. He barrels through traffic, firing off a quick shot before peeling off without waiting around to see the result.
“Nice one, Cap,” Jax calls out.
Steele grins as he circles back toward the boards. “Someone’s gotta keep the old man awake.”
Laughter echoes through the rink, bouncing off the empty seats as sticks scrape the ice and pucks slap against pads and boards. The familiar rhythm of practice settles in. There’s the noise, the constant pressure, and the relentless scramble to dominate.
For a few minutes, I almost forget about my plan to pull Oliver aside.
Almost, but not quite.
Coach’s whistle shrieks through the arena. “Last set! Let’s go!”
The drill kicks up another notch. Pucks come from everywhere—high glove, low blocker, tipped shots through traffic. River plants himself in front of the net, taking cross-checks and slashes like it’s nothing, absorbing punishment without complaint. Zane chirps nonstop. Steele snaps a shot that forces me to track it late and fight for the save as Oliver glides into the circle with that lazy confidence he wears like a second skin.
“Here we go,” Jax says with a laugh. “The Big O thinks he’s about to embarrass you.”
Oliver grins. “That’s because I am about to embarrass him.”
As soon as he snaps off the shot, I follow it, drop my shoulder, and catch it in the webbing of my glove. Leather swallows rubber with a satisfying thud.
It’s always been one of my favorite sounds in the world.
I hold the puck up for a beat.
Oliver points his stick in my direction. “Lucky save.”
“Nah,” I say. “That was skill. And we both know it.”
Coach’s whistle cuts through the cold air. “That’s it! Off the ice and hit the showers!”
The boys break formation. Laughter and banter trail behind them as they skate toward the bench. I stay where I am for a second, glove still raised, the weight of the puck solid in my grip. As good as this feels, as familiar and grounding as practice always is, it doesn’t change what’s waiting for me now that it’s over.
