Page 12 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

The first light of dawn filters through the large windows of the Pine Harbor Community Center, casting a soft golden glow over the empty ice rink. The silence is almost meditative, broken only by the distant hum of the HVAC system. I stand at the edge of the rink, my breath fogging faintly in the chill air, and let my gaze drift across the space.

The stillness of the rink before the world wakes up feels almost sacred, like a blank slate waiting to be written on. It’s a place where the noise of life fades, leaving only clarity and the faint whisper of endless possibilities. No noise, no expectations. Just me, the rink, and a lingering sense of possibility. The cool air carries a faint metallic tang from the ice, and the faint scuff marks from countless skates seem to hold stories of past victories and defeats. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you think about the things you usually try to ignore. And lately, I’ve been thinking about a lot.

Lucy, for one.

She’s a puzzle I can’t quite solve—a whirlwind of contradictions that keeps me guessing. One moment she’s all light and laughter, lifting everyone around her, and the next, she’s throwing sharp, pointed comments that reveal just howmuch she sees beneath the surface. It’s both frustrating and fascinating, and it’s left me questioning if I’ve underestimated her. Every time I think I’ve got her figured out—her relentless optimism, her passion for the shelter, her ability to make everyone feel like they matter—she throws me off with something unexpected. A sharp comment, a knowing smile, or, worse, a moment of kindness that hits too close to home.

And then there’s Lewis. The dog is a force of nature, somehow both calming and chaotic in equal measure. He’s become a fixture in my life, whether I’m ready to admit it or not. His unwavering loyalty and boundless energy are starting to feel like the constants I’ve been missing.

“You’re here early,” a familiar voice says, breaking my train of thought. I glance over to see Mark stepping onto the ice in sneakers, a bottle of water in one hand and his ever-present grin in place.

“Could say the same about you,” I reply, leaning on my stick.

Mark shrugs. “Sometimes the rink’s the best place to clear your head. Though from the look on your face, I’d say you’re not doing much clearing.”

“Just thinking,” I mutter.

“About the dog? Or about Lucy?” His grin widens when I glare at him. “Come on, man. It’s obvious. You’re a lot less grumpy these days, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just because of Lewis.”

“Drop it, Mark,” I say, but there’s no bite in my tone. Mark claps me on the shoulder before heading off, his laughter echoing as he disappears into the hallway.

With a sigh, I step away from the rink and head to the small café attached to the community center. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me as I push open the door, and I spot Emma sitting at a corner table, waving me over.

Emma glances up as I slide into the seat across from her, a latte in hand and a book propped open in front of her. She’s already halfway through it, her relaxed posture giving away her contentment. “Well, look who decided to join the early crowd,” she teases, closing the book and setting it aside.

“Interesting choice,” I say, nodding at the book with a curious glance. “What are you reading?”

She holds up the cover, a romance novel with a cheerful-looking couple and a dog on the front. I raise an eyebrow, and she grins.

“It’s research,” she says. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn about people from stories like these.”

“If you say so,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. Emma’s always had a way of finding meaning in places I’d never think to look.

She sets the book down and studies me for a moment, her expression softening. “How’s it going with Lewis?”

“He’s…a handful,” I admit. “But a good one.”

Emma’s smile widens. “And the campaign?”

I hesitate, swirling my coffee idly. “It’s fine. Lucy’s good at what she does.”

“And you?” she presses. “How are you handling it?”

“I’m figuring it out,” I say finally, glancing out the window. “It’s…different. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Emma studies me for a moment longer, then nods. “You’re changing, Logan. For the better.”

Her words linger in my mind as I leave the café, Lewis’s leash in hand, stirring something unfamiliar in my chest. Am I really changing? And if I am, is it for the better, like she said? The thought both grounds me and unsettles me, pushing me to question what I want to become.

Later that afternoon, I’m at the park with Lewis, tossing a tennis ball while he bounds after it like his life depends on it. Thesky is overcast, the air heavy with the promise of rain, but for now, the weather holds.

As I toss the ball again, a passerby stops to watch. “That’s Lewis, right?” she asks, smiling. “I saw him on the shelter’s page. He’s adorable!”

“Yeah, that’s him,” I reply, a little awkwardly.

“And you must be Logan,” she adds. “The hockey player? It’s great what you’re doing for the shelter. Really inspiring.”

I mumble a thanks, not sure how to handle the praise, and the woman walks away with a wave. Lewis, oblivious to the exchange, returns with the ball, tail wagging.

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