The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

6. Scotty

CHAPTER 6

SCOTTY

I love how the rink buzzes with enough energy to make five in the morning feel like midday. The guys are out on the ice, slicing through it like hot knives through butter, running what I’ve dubbed the “Puck Pass Parade” drill. One player skates toward the goal with the puck, passes it to a teammate positioned at the boards, who then immediately passes it back, setting up a shot.

Kind of like tossing a hot potato, but with more finesse and a lot less burnt fingers. It’s about timing, anticipation, and reading your teammate. Things that a newly formed team need if we’re going to meet the expectations of Zach Hart.

“Focus, guys! Keep those passes sharp,” I call out, trying to sound more like the coach I’m supposed to be and less like a guy who’s got his head in the clouds. The players respond, the rhythm of the drill picking up, and the sound of their effort cutting through my thoughts. I watch from the sidelines, clipboard in hand like it’s supposed to make me look more coach-like, but my mind’s not on the drill.

It keeps drifting to that breath of fresh air in woman form.

Angel’s got this vibe—like she could probably fix a flat tire in the rain without breaking a sweat. There’s a grit to her, a kind of fire that says she’s fought battles and come out swinging.

It’s way too early in the game for me to have feelings, especially when we’ve barely started the first period. It’s ridiculous, really. I just met the woman, and I’m feeling all … what? Nostalgic? For what, I don’t even know.

These mental gymnastics are head-spinning. Trying to watch the guys while also having this new and old sensation bubbling up is a sport of its own.

“Hey, Coach, you planning to join us, or are you gonna daydream about your next coffee fix?” one of the players, Ted Powell, calls out, snapping me back to reality.

I chuckle, ready with a comeback. “I’m admiring the view, you know, making sure the ice doesn’t melt from all your hot shots.”

Ted rolls his eyes, but I catch the hint of a grin. Dad jokes for the win.

Shaking off the distraction, I refocus on the team. “Come on, boys, let’s keep it moving. Remember, it’s about finding your rhythm, not just making the shot.”

We dive back into the drill, the sound of the puck hitting sticks, then boards, then the back of the net filling the rink. It’s a good sound, honest and straightforward, unlike the tangled mess of thoughts about Angel and whatever’s brewing in my head.

Whatever it is, I’ve got to put it on ice. I may be debating whether Maple Falls could be the place where Lily and I set some new roots, but I’ve got a team to run, a daughter who’s my world, and a whole lot of personal baggage I’m not ready to unpack.

For now, I’m good old Coach Scotty, master of drills and dad jokes.

Catching a sneak peek of Zach Hart, our team’s owner, half-hidden behind a pillar, feels like spotting a rare bird. He’s got that “I’m not really here” vibe, but his eagle eyes miss nothing. It’s like being under surveillance without the cameras.

Down on the ice, Nate and Ted are turning a routine drill into a full-blown soap opera over a botched pass. They’re squaring off, tempers flaring, making it seem we’ve swapped hockey for daytime drama. I’ve been hanging back, hoping they’d cool down on their own. Wishful thinking, I guess.

Stepping in before fists fly, I skate over. “Whoa, whoa, easy, guys. What’s the drama? Someone forget their morning coffee?”

Nate’s practically steaming from the ears. “He’s puck-hogging like we’re back in high school!”

Ted’s not having it. “Maybe if your shots didn’t flirt with the ceiling, I’d pass more!”

Time to channel my inner peacekeeper. “Gents, we’re not here to audition for ‘The Real Housewives of the NHL.’ Missing passes and shots, it’s part of the game. You know that. These are early days, and your expectations are based on your home teams. But you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Zach’s shadow looms from above, a silent cue that this is my circus, my monkey to manage.

“What matters is we keep our cool and pull together. We clear?” I’m using my dad-voice, which seems to be as effective with these guys as it is with Lily. Thank goodness.

Their grumbling apologies cut through the tension, and they skate off, egos slightly bruised but intact.

I sneak a glance upwards. Zach’s vanished, probably off to haunt some other part of the rink. Crisis managed, team spirit salvaged. Now, if only figuring out my own life’s missteps were as straightforward as navigating ice rink squabbles.

As Nate and Ted skate back into formation, I take this moment to let the rest of the guys in on the issue. They may be huffing and trying to act like they weren’t watching, but it’s a lame act.

“Listen, Zach Hart’s turned this place into his personal eagle’s nest this morning. Seems he’s more into live feeds than Netflix.” A few of them crane their necks, looking up toward the spot where Zach was perched, but it’s empty now. His brief appearance was like spotting a ghost—now you see him, now you don’t. “Let’s say he’s got eyes on the ice that could give the NSA a run for their money. So, how about we show him the kind of teamwork that wouldn’t embarrass a peewee team, huh?”

The message is clear. Professionalism isn’t a fancy word to throw around in interviews; it’s practiced here, where the cold bites and the stakes are high. We’re molding this group of hotshots into a team that’s as formidable in character as it is in skill. As their coach, it’s on me to lead that charge, under Zach’s watchful eyes or not. It’s my job.

“Let’s go again.”

In the heart of the formation, I adjust the players’ positions. It’s a dance I know by heart, though my dancing shoes have been hung up for a while. As I glide away, confident that the tweak might make the difference in our play, Nate’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and biting.

“Scotty’s been off the ice for years. Pep talks are one thing, but he chose to walk away. The game’s changed.”

The remark stings, more than I care to admit. Before I can turn around, Cooper jumps in.

“You’re way off base,” Cooper snaps back. “Scotty stepped away from the spotlight, not because he lost his love for the game, but because his wife was in the fight of her life. Every day, instead of lacing up for the ice, he was at her side, showing up for her in ways most of us can’t even imagine. He did it with more strength and dignity than any championship could ever offer. Get that straight.” Cooper’s words carve through the air.

I’d kept Corrie’s illness quiet because that was what we both wanted. But a few of the guys knew from the start. Cooper was one of them, since we go back to minor league days. After she was gone, it wasn’t a secret anymore, but I’d left the limelight and didn’t have any intention of going back.

Until now .

The words hang heavy in the rink as I skate to the sidelines, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on me. The murmur of surprise—or is it pity?—fills the space between us.

I don’t want their pity. I’ve never wanted it. My life, my choices—they’re mine to bear. I took care of my wife because she was my world, not for some moral high ground or to be some kind of saint. The game, as much as I loved it, paled in comparison to her smile, her courage, her fight. Those memories are sacred, private, not fodder for locker room banter or to be dissected under the fluorescent lights of an ice rink.

I don’t need them to understand. I don’t need their sympathy. What I need is the ice beneath my feet, the game in front of me, and the memory of her love to keep me grounded. Hockey’s a part of me, but it’s not my everything. Not anymore. That title belongs to Lily, my beacon in a world that’s been a little darker, a little colder since my wife left it.

I miss her, every day, and stepping away from the game was a choice I’d make again in a heartbeat. But standing here, on the sidelines of a world I once ruled, the distance between who I was and who I’ve become feels bigger than ever.

The players resume their drill, a semblance of normalcy returning, and my mind floats again to the idea of moving to Maple Falls. Would coming here really be the new start I thought it might be? Back in Colorado, at the Dog’s Paw dog spa, I’m good old Scotty. And I like that. The thought of being “just a dad” makes me smile.

But I have to do what’s right for Lily. A clean start could be it.

Whatever it is, I’ll do it.

A chill clings to me as I step off the ice, but it passes quickly when I catch sight of my little Lily. Except she doesn’t look like her usually sunny self. There’s a cloud over her too. Standing off to the side, her small figure is swallowed up by the vastness of the arena. She looks so small.

“Lilybug, what are you doing here? Blair’s supposed to take you to school,” I say, the concern evident in my voice. What a saving grace that most of us are staying in the same lodge, so that others from the extended team can pitch in when I can’t. While we might not stay, I’ve got Lily registered in the local school, just in case. It’s important that she makes some connections and doesn’t lose momentum in school since she’s always been top of her class.

She looks up, and it’s like I’m seeing the first crack of dawn after a long night. “Blair’s waiting for me, but I wanted to see you first. Can I have a hug?”

A hug. It sounds simple, but with Lily, I know it’s never just a hug. So, I sit us down on the nearest bench, the cold of the metal seeping through my tracksuit, a discomfort I gladly endure for this time with her.

“Talk to me, kiddo. What’s up?”

Her eyes meet mine, a tumult of pre-teen emotions. “I don’t know how to explain it. School here is different. Andy isn’t even in my class. He’s in the split grade and the kids in my class look at me like I’m the abominable snowman.”

“Ah,” I nod. “The curse of being the new kid.”

“It’s not bad, it’s just not …” She looks across the ice. “I miss home.”

Home .

The word echoes, heavy with everything we left behind—mountains that touched the sky, friends who were like family, and a house that held too many memories, both joyous and painful.

“I know, Lilybug. I know,” I say, but my heart is heavy. “I thought coming here would be good for us. But if you’re unhappy, we could look at you staying with Rita or Amelia or one of the others from the Dog’s Paw?—”

“No, it’s not that,” she interrupts, her resolve firming. “I want to be here, with you, doing this. It’s just hard, you know? Starting over. And I miss …” Her voice trails off. She doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

I nod, understanding more than she might think. The background noise of the rink fades, leaving the two of us in our bubble. “I get it, Lily. I do. It’s okay to miss it, to miss her.”

She leans against me, her head resting on my shoulder with the easy familiarity of countless similar moments. “Dad, do you ever think we messed up coming here?”

The question hits me harder than any hockey check. I let out a slow breath. “Sometimes, I do. But then I see you, and I see us making it work here, and I think … maybe it’s not about where we are, but about figuring it out together.”

She groans, throwing her head back. “Dad, that is so cheesy .”

“It’s true!” I shrug. “Since when is the truth cheesy?”

“Since it comes in Dad-shaped form. Did you even brush your hair at all this morning?”

“Hey,” I point in her face with a fake serious tone, “you should be happy I still have hair at my age.”

“You’re thirty-five!”

“My point exactly.”

“That’s it.” She stands up and dramatically sighs while planting her hands on her hips. “I’m going to school. I might need to make a few more friends there, but at least the teacher talks some sense.”

With that, my not-so-little girl marches out of the arena with a cheeky smile as she looks over her shoulder and waves.