Page 101 of Wonderstruck

Right. That was it. I had to agree with her.

What was I thinking about? Oh yeah. The name.It suited her. Not just because it was pretty, but because she was. Really pretty. Gorgeous, actually. But not in an obvious way. Well, no, that was a lie—she was obvious about it, just not in a way she seemed to notice like the rest of us. The kind of gorgeous that made people stare without realising they were staring. Like an art piece in a museum. I should take her to a museum. Or maybe a—

“Mr. Rhodes?”

I blinked, falling back into reality.

The tone was clipped, and professional, but therewas something about it—low and faintly accented—that made me sit up straighter.

When I looked up, the man standing acrossfrom me seemed vaguely familiar. He was tall and lean, with sharp cheekbones and the air of someone who thought he was better than everyone else in the room. His forehead lines were deep with age, and those gave that away better than his silver hair.

He extended his hand with a smile that didn’treach his eyes. “Charles Laurent.”

The name felt like I’d been slapped by a questionmark.

Charles Laurent? Charles. Laurentttttt… Holyshit.

Charles Laurent.

How could I forget that name?

The pieces were coming together. QuebecKnights rep? Subtle accent? The slightly overbearing stance?This was the same Charles Laurent who’d beenrivals with my grandfather back when they both played for the Knights. The guy who hated my grandfather so much he’d made every game between them a grudge match. The guy who lost the captaincy to him and never shut up about it,according to Grandpa.

What the fuck was he doing here?

Before I could say anything, his sunken eyesdrifted downward, his brows knitting as they landed on my coffee lid.

His stare didn’t break as he spoke. “Nice doodling.” His gaze snapped back to mine, his expression carved out of stone. “I wasn’t aware I was meeting a child.”

A humourless laugh escaped me as I leanedback, shuffling slightly in my seat. “Well, I guess I’m a child who can bench two-ninety. Ever met one of those before?”

His eyes, the same stormy shade of grey as hishair—maybe even darker—raked over me, leaving a trail of palpable disdain. “I see the resemblance already,” he said, voicelaced with something icy. “Your grandfather also never knew when to reign in that sarcasm.”

That comment only made my chest swell withpride.

But I didn’t bite. I blew off the jab, forcingmyself to play nice—for now.

Extending my hand, I said, “It’s nice to finallymeet you,” keeping my voice steady, even as my grip tightened on his hand. Just enough to let him know I wasn’t the kid he thought I was.

His lips twitched, but the movement wasn’tfriendly. “Likewise,” He released my hand, sat across from me with a groan and folded his arms. “Although, I must say, you’re a double of your grandfather. Both in looks and in that…charming… personality of his.”

My jaw tightened, but I forced a grin. “Well, ifyou already know me so well, we can skip the small talk and get to why you’re here.”

Charles raised a brow, clearly unimpressed, butpulled out a chair and sat across from me. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Leaning back, I watched him study me like Iwas a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. “About a month ago, the Knights sent some of us to various schools around the country, seeing what talant was there, if any existed.” He picked at the lint of his blazer, rolling it between his fingers. Keeping his eyes off me. “Unfortunately for me, I was sent to Liberty Grove.” The wrinkles lining his face twisted. “Never liked New York. Never will. But it seemed it was worth the trip." His eyes fell on me. "I pulled your coach after the game and asked about you, and he thought I was winding him up when I told him I was with the Knights.” Stiff as anything, his chin tilted at me. “Trying to follow in grandpa’s footsteps, eh?”

My lip curled. “You know as well as I do whatan honour that would be if I did, Sir. He changed the game for the Knights. He was what they needed after four back-to-back cup losses.” I couldn’t bite my tongue. “But I don’t need to explain that to you. You were their captain for those games.”

His expression didn’t budge, but I caughtit—that flicker of anger just under the surface. The same look I’d seen in those grainy videos of the ’84 Stanley Cup game when Grandpa skated circles around him.

Charles leaned in, his jaw tightening as heshrugged. “I was young. Stupid at times. I had power I didn’t know how to handle. I’ll admit that.” His voice softened slightly, a hint of something genuine slipping through. But those walls went straight back up as he stared at me. “The year your grandfather took the captaincy was the year I was trying to change. Trying to be better.”

His eyes flicked down to the table, then back tome, and for a split second, I almost believed him. “But no one cared,” he said quietly. “I had my moment, and I blew it. That’s why I retired a few years later and went into coaching. Which,” he added, a ghost of a smirk returning, “is what led me to you.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy andsuffocating, until Charles finally leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “You’re a good player, Finn,” he said grudgingly, like the words physically pained him to admit. “Risky but… good.”

I raised a brow, waiting for him to elaborate.

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