The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

20. Scotty

CHAPTER 20

SCOTTY

S he squeezed my hand. It was the smallest of things, but there’s no doubt that it happened. Sure, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and ask for a kiss for good luck, but somehow, that little squeeze, so normal and natural, was worth more.

Back in Colorado, I focused on being a dad, on making sure Lily had stability. But here, in Maple Falls, it feels like those old dreams of a bigger family could still have legs. Angel, Andy, Lily and I … the thought’s snuck up on me like an underdog play in overtime. But I want it so bad I can taste it.

Is this really me talking?

I step into the locker room and the noise of the guys gearing up pulls me back to reality. We’ve got games to win, and if I’m serious about doing something different with my life, leaving Colorado for good and kicking my career back in gear, then I’d better keep my eye on the game.

But even with the hubbub around me—the equipment being passed, the stretching, and last-minute comments—part of my mind is still on Angel. She’s got this fire to her. I’ve spent so much of my life planning plays, anticipating the next move on the ice, but I never planned for this .

For a feeling that’s less like fireworks and more like coming home.

How did I get here? When did my priorities shift so that not exploring what’s happening with Angel feels like the biggest loss I could face?

As the guys lace up their skates, it’s the bigger picture on my mind. It’s about what it means to really go for something that isn’t measured in scores or wins, but in shared breakfasts, in little laughs, in moments that stitch a family together.

Sharing life with someone like Angel—it’s a daunting idea, but for the first time in a long while, excitement edges out the fear.

The rink’s alive tonight, packed to the rafters with fans buzzing like this is a season opener to remember. “Ice, Ice Baby” blares over the speakers, the bass thumping in sync with my chest as I scan the ice, watching our guys in their sharp blue and white jerseys. The crowd’s chanting ramps up, “Twenty-nine! Twenty-nine!” for Dan Roberts, Maple Falls’ own boy made good. He’s soaking it in, that hometown love.

But as the puck drops and the game starts in earnest, my smile fades into concentration. I’ve got my clipboard in hand, but despite my best efforts to focus, a part of me is with Angel and the kids in the stands. This win would mean so much for Happy Horizons. She’s counting on this, on us, to pull through, to help bring that funding home.

The Canadian Lumberjacks are laying it all on the line. I’ve got to hand it to them—they are giving us their best game.

And it shows.

I clench the railing, the 1-1 tie in the second period making my bones itch.

The cold bites into my hands, the noise of the crowd a distant roar. We need to switch up our strategy, find a weak spot in their armor, but right now, all I can think about is how every pass, every shot, needs to count more than it ever has .

We’re in this game, sure, but we’ve got to bring something more if we’re going to pull out a win.

I’m proud of how our boys are holding up, considering how we are a new team. But these guys are among the league’s best and something gnaws at me—a twist in my stomach that tells me we’re constantly a half-step behind. The Jacks are extra slick, coordinated, their plays unfolding with a precision that our guys haven’t quite matched yet. Every time we slip or miss a beat, I can feel the game slipping, the control edging away.

I’m on the edge, shifting from one foot to the other as I keep my eyes locked on the ice, glancing occasionally at the glowing digits of the scoreboard that are not in our favor. We need more grit, more speed.

“C’mon, boys, push!” I call, but it’s barely audible above the roar of the crowd.

The game intensifies as the second period nears its end. Our defense is tight, but there’s a gap, and I see it a split second before it happens—a quick pass from the Jacks’ winger slides through our line like a sharp knife. “Watch the wing!” I shout, too late, as their center catches the pass on the fly, a textbook give-and-go that has our goalie scrambling.

The shot comes—a blistering slapshot that sails past our goalie’s glove side. The red light flashes, the siren wails, and a wave of cheers erupts from the visiting section. It’s a gut punch, seeing that puck hit the back of our net. The Jacks’ fans are on their feet, cheering wildly, and the sound feels like a physical blow.

We’re better than this, I know it. My gaze sweeps over my team, their shoulders slumping slightly as they regroup.

“Heads up!” I call out, clapping my hands to get their attention. “We’re not done yet. Let’s turn this around, tie it up again!”

We need to recalibrate, tighten our defense, and be more aggressive on the attack. As they assemble for the face-off, I’m already plotting the adjustments for the next break. Every second counts now, and we need to make them all matter .

It’s not solely about the game anymore. Forget anything about a comeback. I want this win—not for the glory, not for the record, but for what it represents for Angel, for the ranch, for every kid who might get a chance because we played our hearts out tonight.

But it’s not going to happen.

Final score, 2–1. For the Lumberjacks.

Doug throws his clipboard and my eyes scan up to see Zach Hart, arms crossed, and a very unhappy look on his face.

After last night’s poor performance, I know I have to get these forwards in shape.

I’m pacing back and forth, my skates carving shallow grooves into the ice beneath me. My voice echoes off the rink walls as I try to direct the forwards, but frustration builds inside me. They’re not syncing up, passes are sloppy, and our setups are falling apart before they even begin. It’s not like me to get riled up, but today, my patience is thinning fast.

I can’t stand it anymore.

I blow the whistle, sharp and commanding, halting the drill midway. The players look toward me, some bewildered, others frustrated.

“Line up,” I call out, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Play on, but watch closely.”

I push off into a smooth glide, skates slicing through the ice with a satisfying hiss. The cold air whips past me as I pick up speed, weaving between makeshift defenders. I’m not just showing them a drill—my soul is in this. Stick handling with precise, sharp movements that I haven’t used in years. I dodge a defenseman, pull the puck back, and send a no-look pass to the waiting forward at the goal mouth .

The puck hits the tape, and the shot rings off the post and in—a perfect execution.

I come to a stop, my breath visible in the chilly air, heart pounding from the exertion, the thrill, and the frustration under it. I turn to face the team, expecting to jump right into feedback from them.

Silence hangs heavy for a moment, then, out of nowhere, applause breaks out.

It starts with one, then two, and suddenly the whole team is clapping. I’m taken aback, cheeks hot, not from the skating. I hadn’t expected that. Maybe they’re just surprised to see the old man still has it.

I manage a sheepish grin, brushing off the shaved ice from my jersey.

“See?” I say, catching my breath. “Anticipation and positioning. If I can still do it, then there’s no reason you guys can’t make it happen every time.”

My voice is steady now, the earlier frustration washed away by a wave of adrenaline and a touch of pride.

“Let’s reset and do it again,” I instruct, the applause dying down as they swiftly line up. “This time, think about your spacing and timing. Let’s nail it.”

I try to act cool as I move to the sidelines, and that’s when I see Lily in the stands.

As the applause fades and the players reset for another drill, my gaze sticks to Lily, perched in the cold, empty stands.

My heart sinks. What’s she doing here? It’s the middle of a school day.

If there’s been another suspension …

The joy of that brief, shining moment on the ice turns sour, mixing with a surge of worry. The distance between the ice and the bleachers feels like miles as I skate over, my mind racing.

All the signs are there, and I wasn’t ready to see it—missing school, acting out, getting in trouble. It’s been tough on her, moving to Maple Falls, trying to fit into a new life that doesn’t fit her.

I pull off my helmet and climb the steps to where she sits, her school bag dumped beside her, her eyes big and worried when she sees the look on my face.

“Dad,” she starts, her voice small.

The rink suddenly feels colder, the echoing sounds of practice a dull roar in the background. “Why aren’t you in school?”

She squirms, chewing on her lip. “I … um, I need some advice.”

“Of course, tell me.”

“It’s—uh—awkward.”

“I can handle it.” Can I?

“It’s about woman stuff.”

“Oh.” Alert, alert! I can’t handle that . “How about we find someone who can help with that.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

My thoughts scramble. I could ask Blair, but she’s fully overtaken with work and Lily isn’t that close to her, but …

Angel.

She’ll know how to handle whatever this is. She’s been a guiding force for Lily, more than she knows. As much as I want to be everything Lily needs, some things are out of my depth. And that’s okay. I need to be okay with it.

I pull out my phone, hesitating as I thumb through the contacts. Angel’s name pops up, and I feel that familiar kick in my chest.

I shove down the feelings. Now’s not the time for whatever’s been growing between us. Lily needs help, and I need to focus.

“Okay, sweetheart,” I say, putting an arm around her. “Let’s give Angel a call, yeah? She can help.”

Lily nods, relief washing over her features, and I step away to make the call. The ring feels like an eternity. When Angel picks up, her voice is a lifesaver .

“Angel, it’s Scotty. We have a bit of a situation. Lily needs some advice, and, well, it’s not really dad territory.”

There’s a pause, then a soft laugh on the other end that makes something in me ache. “Of course, Scotty. Put her on.”

I hand the phone to Lily, watching her take a deep breath before she starts talking. I step back, giving her privacy, my eyes tracing the ice below. A laugh breaks through Lily’s initial embarrassment as she chats with Angel. She lightens up, her shoulders relaxing. Angel’s doing that. She’s helping my kid when I can’t. Seeing the relief on her face makes the tough choices ahead feel even heavier.

“Thanks, Dad.” She hands the phone back to me. “It’s hard not having a lot of people to talk to, you know?”

I do. In times like this, I would have turned to Corrie. My heart sticks in my throat.

“I know, kiddo.”

“Thank goodness Angel is here. She gave me some real good advice, even if back home, there was everyone at the Dog’s Paw. Remember how Amelia let me dog sit her pug puppy, Max?”

The folks of the Dog’s Paw dog spa were like family. The closest we had, and I could count on them for anything. A lot of people couldn’t understand why a former hockey pro would change lifestyle so dramatically—but for me, that family feeling of a team was just the same at the Dog’s Paw as it ever was at the Denver Peaks. Sometimes more. Something about working with animals brings people together.

I miss them.

“Of course, I remember. You turned that pup into a canine princess, crown and all. It’s amazing he let you do it.”

“Pfft, he loved the attention.”

Her innocent smile warms me up. “I can only imagine how it is for you now, not having anyone.”

“Well, there’s Angel … ” she says. “She may only be one person, but one person can do a lot, right? ”

“One person is good, sure. But it’s not a community, Lilybug.”

“You’re going to have to stop calling me that.” She sets her hands on her hips, looking way too grown up for my liking. “And start treating me more like an adult. I’m almost one, after all.”

“Don’t remind me.”

As she scampers off, the doubts creep in, thick and suffocating. In Colorado, we have an entire community around us, people we know and people we trust.

Maple Falls, Happy Horizons, the Ice Breakers—it seemed like a fresh start, a new chapter where Lily and I could find our footing. Yet, seeing her struggle, questioning if she’s truly happy, makes me second-guess our stay here. Lily is at the cusp of adulthood and such a big, permanent move could shake her up. I was foolish to think I could come back to hockey, to start something new here.

Maybe going back to Colorado is our best play, to the quiet life where I was just a groundskeeper with his little girl and Lily had the peace and support she deserves.

The thought of what Angel has come to mean to us—not only to me, but Lily too—makes leaving here harder than I thought.

But I’ll do what I have to do for my little girl.