The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

18. Scotty

CHAPTER 18

SCOTTY

S ome days are harder than others.

The cold bite of the rink’s air feels sharper today. From the sidelines, I watch our guys whip across the ice, pros with talent that makes everything look too easy. The scrape of their blades, the slap of the puck; it’s usually the soundtrack to my best days. But today, it’s noise against the loop of Colorado memories playing in my head.

“Keep that formation tight, come on!” My voice breaks through the drill, pulling me back from thoughts of quieter days up in the Rockies. Back then, it was just me, Lily, and too many silent meals where we both pretended everything was fine.

Now, watching one of our hotshots miss an easy assist, I realize how much I’ve brought from there to here—more than a few boxes could hold. Yes, some days, the memories are heavy.

“Eyes up!” I yell, louder this time. They snap to, swift on the correction. Good lads, always quick.

Back in Colorado, I thought I had it all sorted out. Life back there was supposed to be easy, but easy doesn’t always mean right. Smaller place, smaller responsibilities. But that small life didn’t leave much room for dealing with the big stuff, like grief. Lily tried to hide it, but kids wear their hearts in their eyes. I thought I was healing, that we both were, but maybe I was just freezing everything out.

Leaning on the boards and clapping as the team pulls off a slick play, this feels like why I brought us here. Why we left. What we need.

“That’s how you do it! Exactly like that!” The rink’s chill bites, but it’s familiar, keeps me sharp, unlike the deceptive comfort of the past.

The rink’s echo bounces around as another puck misses its mark. “Time!” I shout.

The guys glide over, some sheepish, others puzzled. They huddle around, steam rising off their jerseys like they’re part of the air itself.

“All right, let’s break this down,” I start, tapping my stick against the ice for emphasis. “Your passes—they’re sloppy. It’s like you’re guessing where your guy’s gonna be instead of knowing. I know you know about anticipation, fellas, but it’s not happening.” I snag a nearby whiteboard, sketching quick lines and arrows. “Here and here,” I point, “your positioning is off. You’re crowding the lane. Spread out, create space.”

I can see the gears turning as a few nod, others frown, and all mentally walk through their last moves.

“Think of it like chess, not checkers. Be two steps ahead, not one. And keep those passes crisp and to the stick. Let’s tighten this up.”

They nod, tapping their sticks in agreement, a chorus of clacks against the ice. With a final slap of my stick on the board, they disperse back to positions. The whistle sounds, and the drill restarts. This time, the passes snap across the ice, players moving with purpose.

Be two steps ahead …

That’s what I have to do with Lily. I have to be ahead, not just reacting .

“Nice one!” I call out as they make a sweet pass and shot right on the net.

As the practice picks up pace and the passes find their marks, I lean back against the boards. It took some time, but this mishmash of the league’s best is turning into a team. The guys run through drills, their movements precise and focused, and my mind wanders off.

Growing up, I had this picture in my head of what family life should look like—me, a wife, a couple of kids and a dog—all of it snug and sound. But life didn’t stick to the script. There I was, suddenly a single dad to Lily, juggling school runs and dinner times solo.

Lily’s growing up fast, and her questions about the world are getting tougher by the day. She reminds me so much of her mom sometimes that it hurts, but in the best way.

I still miss Corrie. I always will. I miss her for myself and I miss her for Lily. And when she said to me, “You’re going to be just fine,” when she got the bad news of her diagnosis, I always thought that meant that I’d be fine with Lily on my own.

It didn’t occur to me then that there could ever be anyone else.

Life doesn’t play by the book. It’s messy, unpredictable, and doesn’t pause for timeouts.

“Where are you going with that one, Noah?” I call. “Dan, you were too far left that time.”

Post-practice, the rink slowly empties, leaving behind a cold silence that’s almost soothing. Doug catches up to me with deeper wrinkles than I remember.

“Scotty, we’ve only got hours until game time, and these guys are still all over the place.”

“I know. There are moments where it’s like they’ve been doing this together forever, and then others where they are more like squirrels with a nut problem.”

Doug rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flicking over to the locker room doors. “Exactly. If we can’t sync up better than that, tonight is not going to be an easy win.”

I think back to the drills earlier, to the brief moments of clarity and connection when things clicked. “It’s like they’re waiting for something to set them on fire.”

“Well, hopefully they’ll find it before tonight.” Doug slaps me on the shoulder. “Or we are in for a rough season.”

Doug takes off, but I stare at the ice, hoping for some divine inspiration. But it isn’t coming.

That’s when a slight movement catches my eye at the back of the rink.

“Andy?”

He stands a little awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

“What’re you doing here, bud?” I ask as I approach, keeping my voice light but curious.

“Well, yesterday was rough with Mom and all, so I wanted to come and apologize.”

“It takes a real man to speak when he’s made a mistake.” I give him two thumbs up. “Well done, big guy. Apology accepted.”

He gives me a sheepish grin, and I notice he’s hiding something behind his back. With a bit of a flourish, he brings it around—a hockey stick, older and a bit worn. “I, uh, I’ve always wanted to try playing, you know? But I was kinda afraid to ask before.” He scuffs his shoe against the ground. “I was wondering if maybe, since your practice is over, if you might have a minute or two …”

I can’t help but feel a rush of warmth for the kid. Here he is, stepping out of his comfort zone, reaching out. “Hey, you never have to be afraid of asking me anything, especially when it comes to hockey.” I ruffle his hair. “You want to learn a few things now?”

His face lights up. “Really? You would?”

“Absolutely.” I lead him toward the ice. “Let’s see what you’ve got. ”

As we step onto the chilled surface, Andy grips the stick a little nervously. “Thanks, Scotty,” he says, his voice earnest. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”

Hearing those simple words, something tugs at my heart. I nod with a quick smile as I set up a puck for him. “Let’s start with some basics, champ.”