How burned down I felt.
But now? Now there’s a little girl in Briar Cove who asks if I’m coming back tomorrow like she assumes the answer is yes. And a baker with tired eyes who looks relieved every time I walk through her door.
Toby tosses another protein bar into the air. “So, when are we becoming uncles?”
Liam nearly chokes laughing. Jamie rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t phrase things like that.”
“What? I’m emotionally invested now.”
I laugh despite myself. Then go strangely quiet.
Because the horrifying thing is…
Part of me instantly pictured it. Sunday dinners. Kids skating. Cabins by the lake.
The image arrives warm and dangerous before I can stop it.
Jamie notices the silence immediately. He waits until the others get distracted arguing over power-play statistics before speaking quietly.
“You okay?”
There’s that question again. And once again, I don’t really know how to answer it.
“I think I forgot what liking my life felt like,” I admit finally.
Jamie studies me for a long moment. Then nods once like he understands far more than I actually said.
After practice I drive back toward Briar Cove alone. Snow falls harder outside the windshield while the highway narrows into lake-country roads lined with pine trees and old cabins wrapped in white lights.
My chest loosens mile by mile the farther I get from Frostholm. That should probably tell me something important.
By the time Briar Cove appears ahead, dusk has settled over the town, and suddenly everything slows. The frozen lake glows pale silver beneath the evening sky. Kids skate near the community rink wrapped in scarves and hockey jerseys. Main Street twinkles beneath hanging lights. And Sweet Seasons Bakery glows warm against the snow-covered sidewalks.
I slow automatically as I pass it. Inside the window, Sadie laughs at something Mrs. Bellamy says while Jillie decorates sugar cookies beside the register.
The sight hits me harder than any trade conversation all day. Because this feels real in a way hockey hasn’t in years.
Not glamorous.
Not exciting.
Peaceful.
I keep driving slowly toward Sadie’s neighborhood.
Outside her small house, Jillie’s handmade snowman leans crookedly near the porch.
One button eye is missing. The scarf is too big. The stick arms are uneven.
It’s perfect.
And suddenly I understand something terrifying. This isn’t about hockey anymore. Not really.
Not about contracts, or headlines, or rebuilding my image.
It’s about peace, belonging, family, and Sadie.
The realization lands quietly but completely.
