Page 244 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
A soft smile appears on her lips. “Go,” she whispers.
“Really?” I ask, afraid to get my hopes up.
The guys have still got a few hours here yet. The number of boys in the room is only growing.
“Yes. You just made that girl's entire year by making her feel seen. You validated her as an athlete. She’ll never forget it. Now, go and see your little ice demon. Go and make her smile as well. She deserves it. She’s been a long time without her daddy.”
“You’re the best, Hails,” I say before rushing out of the building as fast as my legs will take me.
I don’t bother saying goodbye to anyone; they’ll all understand.
I’m in my car and heading across town in only a few minutes.
I make a quick pit stop for a packet of Hershey’s Kisses, Sutton’s favorite treat, before pulling up to the arena. No sooner have I killed the engine, am I on my feet and racing toward the rink where I know Sutton is going to be.
I hear them long before I see them, their high-pitched voices shouting and cheering each other on, their passion and dedication clear in their voices.
They may all be under eight, but it doesn’t matter; hockey is their everything. This time on the ice will hands down be the best part of their day.
I remember it well.
With a fond smile playing on my lips, I round the final corner. The rink appears before me. The girls always look so tiny out there, even in their pads. I’m so used to the guys cutting up the ice that it always takes me by surprise to see their small bodies flying around.
I watch them shooting pucks into an open goal two at a time as I approach.
Sutton doesn’t see me; she’s too focused on her next turn.
I stand there at the boards on the other side of the rink to the rest of the parents as Megan, her head coach, shoots a puck toward Sutton.
She catches it instantly before skating forward and shooting.
I holler the second it hits the back of the net, and Sutton spins around with a wide smile on her face that makes my heart tumble in my chest.
“Daddy,” she mouths.
She skates up and presses her gloved hands to the plexiglass.
I do the same.
“You came,” she shouts.
“I managed to get away early.”
Her smile widens.
“Gran is over there,” she shouts, pointing over her shoulder. “Go and watch.”
Lifting my eyes, I look across the rink. But Mom isn’t the firstperson I find.
Instead, my eyes lock onto another familiar set of eyes.
A green set.
A set that I can’t stop fucking thinking about.
Confusion wars within me as she stands like a rabbit in headlights.
“What’s Casey Watson doing here?” I don’t mean to say the words out loud, but they spill from my lips regardless.
