The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

2. Scotty

CHAPTER 2

SCOTTY

T he echo of the puck slamming against the boards fills the arena as I watch from the sidelines, my breath a fog in the cold air as I squint at my clipboard. The first practice of the Ice Breakers is well underway, though they’re anything but united—a collection of guys and far from the unified team we have to become.

And I’m happier than I thought I would be to be here.

For now, the Ice Breakers are a jumble of talent and a dash of ego, scattered across the ice, their moves not yet that of a crew that’s been through the fires of competition together. We may be a charity team, but every guy out there has ambitions that stretch beyond casual games for a good cause.

The air is thick with the frost and the scent of socks, and it takes me right back to four years ago when hockey wasn’t just a game but nearly my entire world.

“Spread out! Spread out!” Doug shouts, his voice bouncing off the ice. “Ted, you’re crowding the center!”

I lean in, watching as the players fumble another drill. Some of these guys I’ve known for years—Cooper Montgomery, Ted Powell, and of course, Coach Doug, were all part of my life back then. I played against a few during my time with the Denver Peaks, and others go back to our time in the minor league. In some ways, it feels like no time has gone by.

“They’re disjointed,” Doug grumbles to himself. “What do you think, Scotty? I’ve seen you read plays before they happen.”

“They’re not reading each other well,” I observe, my eyes tracking the flow of the game. “See how Nate hangs back when he should be pushing forward? It’s like they’re playing with blindfolds on.”

Doug nods, glancing in my direction. “What’s the underlying issue?”

I hesitate for a moment, then point to the ice. “Their spacing is off. And it’s not only about being in the right place. It’s about timing. Like with Noah, he needs to better anticipate the play from the forwards.”

Doug claps his hands, getting the team’s attention. “Listen up! Scotty’s got a point. Your sense of anticipation is off. It’s normal, given that this is our first practice, but you are among the league’s best, so we need to get in gear here. Troy Hart wasn’t fooling around when he brought you together, and his billionaire brother has high expectations. All eyes are going to be on what you can do. Focus on thinking ahead. Let’s reset that drill. Think about where you need to be two seconds from now. Dan and Noah lead it out.”

The team nods, both understanding and a touch of annoyance in their eyes as they line up to try again. Doug turns to me, a wry smile on his face. “You sure you don’t want to jump out there and show them how it’s done, Scotty?”

I shake my head. Those days are up. “No, I think I’ll leave the ice to them for now. If you need me for a demo, you know I’ll suit up, but this is only day one.”

“Fine. But you and I both know they need another leader on the ice, not barking orders from the bench.” Coach Doug is a grizzled veteran of the sport. He may think he’s giving me a gentle nudge, but my past exploits on the ice have been boxed up and shelved in the attic of my memory for years .

I was the one most surprised when Troy Hart called on me to play with the team his brother Zach was financing. I’d settled in nicely being the groundskeeper at a ritzy hotel complete with luxury dog spa in the Rockies. Life is simple there, private and quiet, except for barking dogs. Ever since I’d lost Corrie, the kennels at the Dog’s Paw Dog Spa had become a second home—a title that used to be reserved for the ice.

There was no chance I’d play—even if I’ve been keeping up my skills as a hobby, that’s a far shot from what I used to be. But acting as second coach was something I could do. And hey, I even got two fancy baskets to welcome me.

Even so, my heart aches to jump in, to show rather than tell, but leaving the NHL also left scars.

“I hear you, Doug. It’s just that …” I rub the back of my neck, searching for an escape hatch in the conversation. “I’m afraid if I start playing again, the puck will get jealous of my dazzling skating skills.” I hope the bad joke changes the subject, and fast.

Doug clasps my shoulder, his grip firm. “I get it. It’s been a while. But you’ve got something different from these guys, Scotty. Use it.”

Leaning against the boards, I watch Ted, one of our most powerful players, struggling a bit with the new defensive strategy. He’s great on instinct but seems to hesitate with the structured plays. “Ted!” I call out, catching his attention as he glides over to the bench for a breather.

“Seems like you’re fighting the flow out there,” I start, keeping my tone calm and supportive. “You’re overthinking the pivot transitions.”

Ted nods, wiping sweat from his brow. “Got any tips, Coach ?” he asks, a slight joke in his voice, because I know Ted remembers when he and I used to face off on the ice.

“Try to sync your movements with your partner’s rhythm. You’re too much in reaction mode.” I tap the diagram on my clipboard. “Visualize it and you’ll get the flow. ”

He takes a deep breath, looking back at the ice. “Thanks, Scotty. Gotta trust the flow, right?”

“Exactly,” I reply, watching as he takes to the ice again. His next shift, his transitions are smoother, more intuitive. It’s a small win, but in this game, every bit of edge counts.

“Good adjustment!” I shout, giving him a thumbs up. The slight grin he shoots back tells me he’s feeling the groove again.

The rest of the practice passes in a flurry of drills and adjustments. Almost without me wanting it, my feet lead me onto the ice.

It’s to guide them from up close, but I can’t lie—my skates find their old rhythm as I glide alongside them, correcting formations as they go.

As we wrap up, the rink littered with equipment and shredded ice, Doug gathers us at center ice. His eyes sweep over the group of seasoned NHL players brought together by an ambitious vision. He plants a stick firmly beside him.

“Listen here,” Doug starts, his voice gravelly but commanding, echoing off the boards. “You’re not here to coast on reputations or past stats. You’re here because Zach believes you can bring something more to the game, something that hasn’t been seen before. This isn’t just another paycheck or a casual charity skate; this is about proving that the best can get better.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in among the players, all eyes fixed on him.

“We’ve got a short season ahead, and every moment you’re on this ice, I expect nothing less than your all. You’re representing the Ice Breakers, and more importantly, you’re here for a cause bigger than any single game. We’re here to light up this town, show the fans what real hockey looks like, and most of all, support Happy Horizons. So, let’s sharpen up, focus, and bring the heat as only true pros can. I expect better tomorrow.”

I watch from the back, feeling like a part of it myself, until the guys split, leaving Doug and me alone on the ice. Once they’re gone, Doug joins me, a smile cracking his weathered face. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from getting on the ice, and I told you they needed you out there.”

“Just doing my job,” I say, tipping my imaginary cowboy hat.

“Mm-hmmm,” Doug mumbles with a raised eyebrow. “Self-denial aside, you’re coming to the media event tonight, right?”

I groan, already dreading the thought. “Ah, my only tie has seen better days. It’s worn at the edges, kind of like my patience for these shindigs.”

“Please brush your hair, Scotty. And consider wearing matching socks?” Doug grumbles, a playful edge to his voice. It’s amazing that he even remembers my signature mismatched socks, which hogged the headlines for a brief moment in history.

The thought makes me do a strange sound that is probably described as a guffaw . “Like they care. ‘Has-been NHL Star Wears Matching Socks: Journalists Around the World Stunned.’ Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

Doug laughs, clapping me on the shoulder before skating off.

Fancy events with small talk and stiff collars? I’d much rather be home, hanging out with my daughter, where the dress code is comfy and the only audience is each other.