The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

24. Scotty

CHAPTER 24

SCOTTY

A ngel’s words hit me like a puck to the gut.

“Scotty, you might not see it, but everyone else does. You belong on that ice, not coaching beside it.”

I lean against the boards, arms crossed, watching the Zamboni make its slow sweep across the ice, the machine smoothing over the scars of practice. As Angel talks, I find myself dissecting her words, turning them over like a well-used stick in my hands. She’s right about one thing—I do miss it.

Being out there, the feel of the ice under my skates, the quick give and take of passes, setting up the play … it’s a dance I’ve known all my life. And during those practices with the Ice Breakers, when I stepped in to demonstrate a drill or correct a formation, it wasn’t simply muscle memory; it was like waking up a part of my soul I thought I’d put to bed.

But there’s more to it than lacing up and hitting the ice again. Colorado, with its quiet life, the job at the hotel that doesn’t ask more of me than I’m willing to give. And Lily.

Angel’s watching me, her eyes sharp. “You’re thinking about Lily,” she says, not a question but a statement.

I nod, because she’s right. “I know Lily thinks things are going well here, but …” I trail off, the weight of the decision pressing down on me.

If I choose the ice, I’m choosing a life far from the quiet safety of our life in Colorado.

“It’s not only about what I want,” I continue, my voice low, almost lost beneath the hum of the Zamboni. “It’s about what’s best for her. Right now, I think that’s a life where her dad isn’t chasing old dreams.”

Angel’s expression relaxes, and she lays a kind hand on my arm. “I get it, Scotty. Really, I do, but don’t you think she’d want you to be happy too? Isn’t that part of what’s best for her?”

Her words echo in my head as I watch the clean ice, pristine and untouched. A fresh start. Isn’t that what I came here for? To give Lily that fresh start?

As much as part of me yearns to say yes, to strap on my skates and step back into the game, another part knows that my place isn’t on the ice anymore. It’s with Lily, wherever that might be.

“Thanks, Angel,” I finally say, giving her a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “For everything.”

She squeezes my arm, then lets go and walks away.

If this is what’s right, why does it feel ever so wrong?

Doug claps me on the back, his hand heavy and sure. “Just saw your charity lady rushing through the corridor,” he says, “and she looked rather upset.” Doug’s eyes narrow a bit as he studies me, the usual easy-going jest fading from his expression. “Scotty, we need to talk,” he starts, his voice different from what I’m used to. We move to a quieter corner of the rink, away from the fading echoes of practice.

“You’re still thinking of heading back to Colorado, huh?” Doug leans against the wall, crossing his arms. It’s not his usual style to dive into personal matters; Doug’s more the type to let you figure out your own mess—unless he really thinks you’re about to screw up big time .

“Yeah, I … It’s complicated, Doug,” I reply, feeling the weight of the decision all over again.

Doug listens as I lay out my reasons—stability for Lily, a job that doesn’t ask too much of me, a life where I can keep my head down and focus on being a dad. Each point feels solid, necessary, but Doug’s not buying it.

“For every reason you’ve got to go back, I bet you’ve got one to stay that you’re not admitting,” Doug counters after I’ve finished. “Don’t tell me it’s not about Angel, because even a blind man could see you’ve got it bad for her.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Doug raises a hand, stopping me mid-breath. “What about being part of something bigger again? You’ve got what it takes, and there’s a good life to be had here. Especially if I give you an opportunity to stay on and play with a permanent team here.”

My jaw drops. “You’re going to what?”

“The point is, you have an opportunity here that is much greater than you know.”

“It’s just I’m concerned that?—”

“Quit with the justs, Scotty. I’ve watched you. You’re alive here, man. That’s worth more than any safe job or quiet life. And Lily, she’s thriving too.” Doug’s voice quietens, his usual gruffness fading away. “A few bumps are going to happen no matter where you are.”

I can’t deny it. Lily’s laughed more here, connected more in these couple of months, and come out of her shell in a way I’ve never seen before. That’s what scared me.

But I’ve never been a guy who makes decisions based on fear.

Doug points a finger at me, his next words firm, accepting no argument. “Don’t do something you’ll regret because you’re scared, Scotty. Take the risk. For you, for Lily, for what you could have here. Don’t let something great pass you by.”

“Thanks, Doug,” I manage, my voice rough. “I’ll think about it. ”

Doug claps me on the shoulder again, this time a gentler touch. “That’s all I’m asking, buddy. Think about it.”

He turns to head to the locker room, but then stops. “Now, Scotty, get your act together. We’ve got to win this last game!”

Game time.

The buzzer sounds, and this match with the Lumberjacks is tense before it begins.

The arena is a sea of colors as the stands practically vibrate. I’m behind the bench, clipboard in hand, but every play is etched into my mind, not on paper.

The first period kicks off with an intensity that matches the playoff atmosphere. Our guys hit the ice hard. Dawson, guarding the net like a fortress, manages a series of sharp saves that draws cheers loud enough to rattle the glass. Dan Roberts, wearing the proud #29, is on fire tonight, slipping through defenders with a grace that makes it look like he’s skating on air.

We manage to slap a quick one past the Jacks’ goalie—a slick pass from Dan to Nate, who hammers it home. The crowd erupts, but so does the tension on our bench.

It’s a good start, though I’ve been around long enough to know that early leads can make a team complacent.

By the second period, we’re up 2–1, but I don’t like what I’m seeing. Our passes are getting sloppy, showboating when we should be shoring up our defense. During a break, I pull Doug aside, nodding toward the ice.

“We’re getting cocky out there. Need to tighten it up,” I mutter, watching as one of our forwards misses a crucial check, letting a Jack forward take a dangerous shot on goal.

Doug, arms crossed, follows my gaze, his expression grim. “ Agreed. Let’s remind them it’s not only about the highlight reel. We lose focus, and these Jacks will eat us alive.”

I call a timeout, gathering the team around. The rink’s chill seeps through my jacket as I lean in, my voice firm but controlled.

“Listen up! We’ve got a lead, but that doesn’t mean squat if we let up now. Stick to the game plan. Play smart, not flashy. Defense, keep your eyes on their playmakers—no more solo heroics. Forwards, I want quick passes, no puck hogging.”

The guys nod, a few tapping their sticks on the ground, the universal hockey sign of agreement. As they disperse back to the ice, I catch Dan’s eye. He gives me a nod, the kind that says he’s got this, and I believe him.

As the players line up for the face-off, I step back, letting Doug do his thing, but my eyes are glued to the ice, watching every move, every play. This game, it’s more than another notch in the win column; it’s a test of whether we can hold ourselves together when it counts.

The whistle blows, snapping me back to the present, and just like that, we’re back in the fray, the sound of blade against ice filling my ears as we fight to keep our lead.

If it were me skating with them right now, I’d tighten our formation, keep the puck moving fast and low on the ice. Positioning is key. I’d hover near the blue line, keeping an eye out for any breakaway attempts, then swing it back to our forwards, setting up for a clean, crisp assist. The Jacks are too spread in that zone. The rhythm of the game pulses through my bones, even from the sidelines.

That’s when I sense we’re about to lose our lead.

“Tighter!” I scream, seeing a dangerous gap on the wing, but it’s too late. The Jacks are on it like jelly on peanut butter and my stomach drops as a smack on the ice sends the puck flying.

Right into our net.

“Come on!” Doug spins, biting his tongue.

The scoreboard looms overhead, the numbers glaring down at us—2–2. My heart is pounding, a wild drumbeat that syncs up with the crescendo of cheers echoing off the arena walls. The air is electric.

Doug’s face is a mask of desperation as he grips my shoulder, his fingers digging in slightly. “Scotty, it’s time,” he says, urgency lacing his tone. “Get out there and light it up!”

“Doug, I?—”

“This is not up for discussion! It’s in your contract, which I know because I put it there. Now you’ve got five minutes to suit up, leaving you the remainder of the period on the ice to save the Ice Breakers. Do it!”

I don’t think, I run.

I rush into the change room and have my equipment on in three minutes flat. I’m doing everything I can not to let my brain get in the way, or I might just run for the hills.

“Reporting for the ice,” I say to Doug.

He nods, not taking his eyes off the game. “You’re out there in thirty seconds.”

I turn around to see Angel who has slipped down to the bench level, her face lit up as she looks me straight in the eyes.

“This is crazy,” I tell her.

“It’s perfect!” she replies.

“But what if I?—”

I don’t have a chance to finish that doubt. She doesn’t hesitate. With a firmness of a she-wolf, she leans over the wall, grabs my jersey, and her lips crash against mine in a fierce kiss that I don’t quite believe is happening.

“That was for good luck. Now get on that ice,” she commands as something in me lights up, “and make it count!”

That kiss … it was a lightning strike, firing me from the inside out.

“Make it count,” I repeat, nodding my head. “Time to win it!”

“That’s my man!” she screams, and for now I’m going to let myself believe it .

MacFarland is getting back on the ice. His lady in the stands is cheering him on. Jacks better look out.

Everything else disappears as I snap my helmet into place. As I leap over the boards, the reality of it hits me, but it’s the surge of the crowd that really fills my lungs.

Angel’s kiss still lingers, like a burning courage on my lips. The feel of her sends me forward, skating toward my position with a clarity sharpened by years of instinct. My gaze sweeps the ice—positions, movements, possibilities all registering in rapid succession.

“MacFarland, let’s see some magic!” Doug’s voice crackles.

I nod, already circling, feeling the old thrill of the hunt as I watch the puck zip across the slick surface. The Jacks are strong, their hotshot weaving through our defense. My focus narrows, and everything slows. It’s just me, the puck, and the play unfolding.

I position myself near the blue line, ready to intercept.

The moment comes—a loose puck, an error on their part. I’m on it, my stick an extension of my arm, pulling the puck back into our control.

“MacFarland, left wing, to Dan!” Noah’s voice reaches me as he comes up my right.

With a deft maneuver, I dodge a charging Jack, feeling the old prowess flare as muscle memory kicks in. The ice beneath me is a dance floor, and I’m sidestepping, twirling, keeping my balance and focus. The Jacks press in, but I’m already ahead, seeing the play before it happens.

The pass needs to be perfect. I draw two defenders toward me, creating the gap I know Dan can exploit. With a flick of my wrist, I send the puck spinning across the ice to him, a clean, slicing pass that cuts through the tension like a blade.

Time seems to suspend as the pucks slides to Dan.

He doesn’t hesitate—the shot is swift, a high shot that ends with the thunderclap of the puck slamming into the back of the net .

“GOAL!”

The crowd explodes, a wave of noise and color as the scoreboard blinks the new reality: 3–2, Ice Breakers.

My teammates rush me, a blur of jerseys and shouts, but my eyes find Angel in the stands. Her face is lit up, her pride and delight evident as she cheers her head off.