Page 5 of Flashback for the Forward

“Mm-hmm.”

“Ty, leave this poor man alone.” A large hand came on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry—” The man’s words died off when I lifted my head, instant recognition lighting up in his eyes. “Holy crap, you’re Cole Astor.”

“I am,” I confirmed.

“Oh wow. I am a huge fan,” he gushed.

“Appreciate it.”

The guy snatched the mini stick away from who I could only assume was his son, and thrust it in my direction. “Could you sign this?”

My fingers curled around the plastic handle. “Only if it’s okay with Ty.” My gaze dropped to the little guy.

His little head bobbed enthusiastically. “Yes, please!”

Being the face of the hometown hockey team meant interactions like this happened almost daily, so I was always prepared with a permanent marker in my back pocket. Whipping it out, I signed my name with a flourish, but before I could hand it back, I felt a weight on my right shoulder, which I knew without looking to be Crew.

With his head positioned right next to mine, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. “If he’s such a huge fan, how come he doesn’t want my autograph?”

Mentally, I rolled my eyes, but to the little boy, I said, “It’s your lucky day, because I’ve got two of my teammates here with me, and I bet they’d love nothing more than to sign your stick too.”

Crew didn’t wait for the kid to reply, taking the stick and marker from my hands. “Thought you’d never ask.” When he finished adding his name, he turned around and dropped them in Levi’s lap. “Put your John Hancock on this.”

“What?” Levi tore his gaze away from the game to look down at the stick. “Where’d this come from?”

I nudged him, jerking my chin toward the fan and his son. “Our junior teammate, Ty.”

“Oh!” His brown eyes widened, and he quickly signed the stick before handing it back to its owner. “Here you go, little man.”

The boy scanned the three autographs. “Wow.”

His dad gave him a nudge. “What do you say?”

Remembering his manners, Ty said, “Thank you!”

“It was our pleasure.” I wagged my finger playfully. “Now, don’t forget to work hard in practice, and always listen to your coach, okay?”

“Yes, sir!” he chirped before running off.

“You guys are class acts,” Ty’s father said. “Thanks for making his night.”

“Anytime.” And I meant it. If it weren’t for fans, I wouldn’t be able to play a child’s game for a living. So, in my mind, giving them a moment of my time or signing my name on a piece of memorabilia was the least I could do to show my gratitude.

Since Austin’s team was up more than five goals, the third period featured a running clock—a mercy rule of sorts that would allow a lopsided game to end more quickly—so they were down to the final minutes when I finally returned my attention to the action on the ice.

Soon, the buzzer sounded, indicating the game had come to its conclusion, and the players from both teams skated toward their respective goalies—the winners to celebrate, the losers to commiserate. Then they lined up at center ice to shake hands in a show of good sportsmanship before heading to the locker rooms.

Standing with a groan, I stretched my arms over my head, tilting my head from side to side to crack my neck.

“You guys gonna stick around until Austin comes out?” Levi asked.

I shrugged before bending down to help Crew collect the trash from his concession stand raid. “Sure, why not.”

When we made it to the lobby, the five of us stood in a circle, chatting about the game while waiting for Austin to emerge from the locker room.

“Austin was skating circles around those kids,” I remarked. “He’s not going to develop much as a player if he stays on this team.”

Levi blew out a breath. “You’re right. He needs to be around those who can push him to elevate his level. But you grew up in SoCal, so you know how slim the options are out here—rinks are few and far between. Even if I can find a team that matches his skill level within an hour’s drive, they’re not likely to have a spot open.”