Page 32 of Pucking the Team

As we lapse into silence again, I mull over this revelation. It’s a stark reminder not to judge a book by its cover—or a hockey player by his penalty minutes. Clearly, there are hidden depths to Ryan that I’ve never glimpsed before.

The thought intrigues me more than it should.

Shaking off my wayward musings, I pull up the itinerary on my phone. “So, about the youth hockey organization we’re visiting?—”

“The Detroit Ice Dragons,” Ryan interjects, a note of what almost sounds like pride in his voice. “I know them well, actually.”

My brows lift in surprise. “You do?”

He nods, his gaze distant, as if seeing into the past. “I was one of their mentees growing up. They’re the reason I made it to the NHL.” A pause, weighted with memory. “I’ve been volunteering with them every off-season since I graduated high school.”

For the second time in minutes, I find myself struck speechless. Not only is this clearly more than a PR stunt for Ryan, but he’s just revealed a piece of his history I never would have guessed.

An underprivileged background, a debt to this very organization…details completely absent from his official bio.

Questions burn on my tongue, but I hold them back. There’s a vulnerability in Ryan’s expression, a rawness that tells me this is not a subject to probe carelessly.

So I simply nod, offering a small smile. “That’s incredible. They must mean a lot to you.”

His answering smile is brief but genuine. “They do. I don’t know where I’d be without them.”

An understanding passes between us, a moment of connection. For an instant, the air feels charged, heavy with unspoken things.

But then Ryan clears his throat, the moment breaking. “Anyway, I’m looking forward to working with them again. Showing these kids that their dreams are within reach, you know?”

“Absolutely.” I nod, still a bit dazed by these revelations. “That’s what this is all about.”

Well, actually, this is all about trying to drum up some good press for a new player who immediately landed himself in fan purgatory, but who’s counting?

As Ryan turns to gaze out the window, I find myself studying his profile, seeing him in a new light. The hard planes of his face, the determined set of his jaw...they tell a story I’m only beginning to glimpse.

Intrigue coils within me, along with, again, that startling flare of attraction.

Ryan Thompson is a mystery.

The entrance to the Detroit Ice Dragons facility is filled with bright, fluorescent lights and the sound of excited chatter. The walls are adorned with motivational posters and photos of past teams and players. Hockey sticks and equipment are scattered around the room, ready to be used for practice and games. Through a set of glass doors at the end of a hallway, I spot the ice rink.

A group of kids, decked out in colorful hockey jerseys, rush towards us. “Ryan!” the kids shout, their faces lighting up at the sight of him. They swarm towards Ryan like moths to a flame, tugging at his sleeves and chattering animatedly.

I watch in amazement as he greets each one by name, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection.

“Hey guys!” Ryan laughs, high-fiving the eager youngsters. “Ready to hit the ice?”

A resounding cheer is their response. As Ryan leads them towards the rink, I trail behind, my camera at the ready. On the ice, Ryan is a natural—patient, encouraging, bringing out the best in each kid as he runs drills.

How could I have been so wrong about him? I think to myself, snapping candid shots of Ryan kneeling to adjust a little girl’s helmet, his large hands surprisingly gentle. The man I thought I knew from afar—gruff, closed-off, quick to anger—is nowhere to be seen.

In his place is someone warm and nurturing, completely in his element.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” a voice says beside me. I turn to see an older man, a program coordinator judging by his badge, watching Ryan with a fond smile.

“He is,” I murmur in agreement. “The kids adore him.”

The man nods. “Ryan’s one of our most dedicated volunteers. Has been for years. It’s a damn shame, all this negative press lately.” He shakes his head. “If they could see him here, they’d know the real Ryan. The size of that boy’s heart…”

A pang of guilt hits me square in the chest. I’d been guilty of the same rush to judgment, letting one heated moment color my entire perception of Ryan.

But as I watch him laugh with the kids, his joy unguarded and infectious, I realize how much more there is to him than meets the eye. And for the first time since this assignment began, I find myself genuinely eager to discover it.

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