Forgiving You: Hockey Stars of Taylor

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FORGIVING YOU
HOCKEY STARS OF TAYLOR RIDGE: BOOK 1
BROOKLYN KERR
Copyright © 2023 Brooklyn Kerr

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission
requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below:
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ISBN: 978-1-922623-19-5 (Paperback)

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the
author’s imagination.

Cover design: The Hatters

Editing: Hundred Proof Services.
Proofreading: Lindsi Labar

Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd

PO Box 407,
Woy Woy, NSW, 2256
Australia
 C O NT E NT S

1. Kiley
2. Kiley
3. Ilya
4. Kiley
5. Ilya
6. Kiley
7. Ilya
8. Ilya
9. Kiley
10. Ilya
11. Ilya
12. Kiley
13. Kiley
14. Kiley
15. Ilya
16. Ilya
17. Ilya
18. Kiley
19. Kiley
20. Ilya
21. Ilya
22. Kiley
23. Ilya
24. Kiley
25. Ilya
26. Ilya
27. Kiley
28. Kiley
29. Kiley
30. Ilya
31. Kiley
32. Ilya
33. Kiley
34. Ilya
35. Kiley
36. Ilya
37. Kiley
Epilogue
Kiley

Team Rosters
Acknowledgments
 D E D I C AT I O N

To my husband – my heart will always be yours forever and always

1
 K I LE Y

T he clock ticked loudly, mocking me with each second. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience
and we were going to be late.
“You realize we’re supposed to be there in fifteen minutes, right?” I hollered down the
hallway.
“It only takes ten minutes to drive, doesn’t it?” my daughter, Molly, yelled from behind the closed
door. “Besides, I’m worth the wait.”
I shook my head at her sass, forcing the words on the tip of my tongue to stay behind my pursed
lips. I would not give a snarky reply. This was a really big deal. She was just nervous.
“I’m going out to put your equipment bag in the car.”
Pulling my sweatshirt from the back of the dining room chair, I hauled my purse off the counter
and tossed my phone in hoping it wouldn’t see the mess in there and jump back out. Granola bars,
lotion, hand sanitizer, an extra t-shirt and yoga pants, a headscarf, hair spray, pepper spray, pens, and
a mini notebook, not to mention all the wrappers and hard candies that sunk to the bottom, were
shoved unceremoniously into my “mom purse,” as my best friend, Joy, called it. Good grief! When
did it get this bad?
As I tossed my things in the car, I wondered what was keeping her. She must be nervous, but
maybe her leg was sore, too. It had been over a year since her surgeons removed a chunk of bone
from her leg and inserted the metal rod, but I knew it still bothered her. Not because she told me, but
by the limp or deep massages she gave herself. I wished she would tell me how she was feeling, but I
knew from past experience she wouldn’t.
After hoisting the fifty-pound equipment bag into the back hatch of my twelve-year-old green
Subaru Forester, I brushed my hands on my jeans. When I looked up, taking a breath to yell for her
again, there was Molly standing in the doorway wearing her black compression shirt, goalie pants,
and a scowl.
I took a few steps toward her. “This is supposed to be exciting. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
As Molly headed to the passenger side of the car, I watched for the slight limp that often plagued
her gait on sore days. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but got lost in thought. She caught me
watching and whirled around to glare at me. So, I gave her a goofy grin. She huffed at me pretending
not to laugh, but she never stayed mad at me for long when I resorted to silliness.
Piling in, we both took a deep breath and then took off for the Muskatoon Finance Center, home of
the Taylor Ridge Raptors.
Rolling down my window a little to feel that warm September air, I smiled. “I’m sure you’ll have
a great time today, Molls!”
She stared out the window sulking. “Yeah, a bunch of professional hockey players are gonna
wanna spend time with a gimpy girl,” she snapped, her hand drifting to her left thigh, rubbing errantly
at the site of her scar. I knew it still pulled sometimes. Massaging it seemed to help or maybe had just
become a nervous habit.
I couldn’t help barking out a laugh at her description of herself. It was the most ridiculous thing I
ever heard. It also had the added benefit of focusing her glare back on me. “Is that what all this
scowling is about? Good grief, kiddo. You are so not a gimpy girl! Yes, you had a rough surgery and
needed a lot of PT, but they removed the cancer. You did it, sweetie! You made it through chemo,
radiation, rehab, and look at you… you’re strong. You’re a force to be reckoned with, and you’re an
awesome goalie. They’re lucky to have you practice with them.”
She snorted and stared out the window. “I know I’m awesome.”
I shook my head a little, thinking others might misinterpret her words as sarcastic. But I knew
better. Not with Molly. She knew her value, embraced her worth, and wasn’t afraid to sound less than
humble.
No one had been more surprised than me when the Taylor Ridge Raptors, the local hockey team,
agreed to help fulfill Molly’s wish to playing hockey with them. She was over the moon when they
said she could watch them and play with them at a practice.
Molly has been a Raptors fan for years, keeping track of trades, injuries, and call-ups to her
favorite league team, the Charleston Cavaliers. She made it her life’s work to know the two teams
inside and out. So, for her to actually be on the ice with them as their goalie, it was really a dream
come true.
In my head, I was torn about the wisdom of allowing her to do this. Part of me was terrified
they’d treat her like their usual goalie, Angus MacNeill, or the backup, Gustav, and be too rough. But
the other part of me was afraid they’d treat her like a fragile little girl and she’d be disappointed in
the experience. Not that she’d let them get away with that, though. She was nothing if not vocal on the
ice. On her kid hockey team, the Arctic Flames, it almost seemed that she did as much coaching as
their coach.
As the personification of my heart jiggled her good leg in the seat next to me, I realized we
arrived. I steered us into the parking lot at the backside of the Center as Landon, the coordinator
suggested. Molly’s sneakers hit the pavement almost before the car stopped.
With only a minute to spare, I threw on my sweatshirt, hoisted her goalie bag out of the car, and
rolled it to the rear entrance.
Molly was several steps ahead of me, already “in the zone,” which meant she didn’t even
remember I existed. So, rather than hold the door for me, she let it slap shut a foot from my face. I
stopped short, bit back a curse, and took a deep breath. When I reached for it, though, it magically
opened.
“Allow me,” a deep voice said.
I spun around at the sound and narrowly avoided barreling into a broad-chested man at least a
foot taller than me wearing a polite smile. His wavy dark hair, captivating brown eyes, and nicely
trimmed beard held my attention a moment longer than was probably appropriate. His well-defined
muscles popped through the front of his tight gray t-shirt. I’d seen muscular men before and my body
never reacted. So, why when I saw his arms threaten to burst the seams of his t-shirt sleeve was my
brain on pause?
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
 Looking up at him, where he held the door right next to my nose caused a new problem, an
intoxicating scent emanating from his body. I felt completely overwhelmed by some sort of creamy
woodsy scent like sandalwood but mixed with something. Something divine.
The next thing I knew, my whole body burst out into a prickly sweat. It was probably a mistake to
put the sweatshirt on before I went inside. It must have been giving me a hot flash. Was I too young for
those?
“Ah, yes. Thanks.”
I didn’t recognize this feeling in my stomach when I looked up into his eyes. Some sort of flip-
flop like when I went on roller coasters as a kid. That feeling when I ratcheted up to the very top, the
little flutters, and then that wild, out of control feeling before falling down the other side. I clutched at
my stomach, willing it to be calm.
He smiled again, readjusting the skates slung over his shoulder. “I didn’t catch your name.”
I returned his smile, unable to look away from his chocolately eyes. “Kiley.”
“Mom! Where’s my stuff?” Molly screeched.
Her voice snapped me out of whatever spell I was under. “I’m coming, sweetie,” I yelled back.
“Excuse me,” I said to the man as I ducked under his arm. With a practiced move, I lugged the bag
over the raised metal threshold and rolled it behind me through the dimly lit backstage area toward
the lighted rink.
Molly stood with hands on her hips. “There you are. I need my bag!”
Passing her the handle, she took it and moved to an open area to suit up: lower pads first, right to
left, tied around the base of the skates, and then uppers in the same order before putting on the arms
and chest plate. Everything had to be done a certain way, the same every time. Oh, the superstitions
involved in this game!
“She yours?” the same man asked standing right next to me.
I felt a little prickle at the back of my neck and crossed my arms smiling. “Yeah, she’s mine.”
He blew out a whistle. “Must be fun at your house.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s a prodigy in some areas, a regular kid in others.”
I watched Molly grab her mask, gloves, and stick, then take to the ice, immediately barking at two
of the defensemen skating toward her. Inside, I cringed. She doesn’t even know those men. But I knew
it didn’t matter to her. She knew her mind and wouldn’t treat them any differently than the kids she
played with since her days of peewee hockey.
“Feisty one, huh?” he asked as Molly swatted at one of the forwards heading toward her blue line.
I nodded. “She knows her stuff.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
I couldn’t help but watch his long legs as they crossed to the locker room. It wasn’t until I realized
that I was staring that I shook my head at myself and looked for a good seat. I needed to be close
enough to Molly to watch for signs of overexertion, but not so close that she’d bitch me out. And yes,
she really would.
Standing next to the boards, I couldn’t help but stop and watch Molly stretch and skate, warming
up with The Raptors’ goalie, Angus. He was too big not to recognize. The backup goalie, Gustav, was
no shrimp, but Angus was from the Scottish Highlands and six-foot-seven. He dwarfed Molly, but you
wouldn’t know it from the way she acted around him. They already joked and spoke to each other like
old friends.
“Ms. Hannigan, I presume?” a man asked, extending his hand to me. He was classically
handsome, seemed trim enough, and was probably somewhere between forty and fifty years old.
 “Kiley, please,” I clarified and shook his hand. “Wait, you’re the General Manager of The
Raptors, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “Cade Malone. May I direct you to your seat?” he asked pointing to another section.
I narrowed my eyes at him, not wanting to move away, but seeing his insistence, I complied. “Of
course.”
“Men! Huddle up!” a man with a clipboard hollered. The guys skated up to him, formed a semi-
circle, and knelt. “Today, we have a guest goalie, Molly Hannigan, and her mom, Kiley with us. Be
respectful. Play hard. Now, get to it! Laps!”
A loud bellow arose as the men grunted their response, pushed up, and took off.
Cade and I watched the guys circle the rink, trying to outdo each other, pushing at each other. A
few I recognized from when Molly yelled at the TV at them during games. When they organized for
drills, the team and Molly played together. Well, maybe together wasn’t the right word. They all
played, but it looked like a free-for-all. But Molly was in fine form, catching most of the pucks
coming her way, barking orders at the defenders, and taking charge on the ice like usual.
He raised his chin. “She looks strong today.”
I nodded. “She’s in remission. It’s been months since treatments were over. The leg still bothers
her more than she wants to admit, but she’s in her element on the ice.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “Oh, I see that.”
I laughed. “We’re Irish. We don’t hold back.”
To accentuate my point, Molly shouted at one of the forwards. He skated by her and around the
back, seeming to listen to what she had to say.
Cade stopped and leaned forward. “What’s she saying?”
I looked at her giving instructions to the men. While I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying,
it was clear they listened to her.
He shifted farther forward on the seat, draping his crossed arms over the seat in front of him. “She
can’t seriously think …” but he trailed off because yes, she did think that and yes, it was working.
Things seemed to be going well until Molly snatched her mask off her head and threw it at one of
the men as she ripped into them for taking it easy on her.
Cade stood. “What’s she doing?”
Knowing what was wrong, I stood and followed him down to where Coach Streya Buchoskya
stood along with the other coaches and drill instructors. Coach was a tall, broad-shouldered, older
Eastern European man with more salt than pepper in his hair. He stood tall, proud, and usually devoid
of expression, but now he wore a deep scowl. Between the drill instructor, the offensive coach, and
the defensive coach bickering over what to do next, the two cents of the teammates surrounding them,
and Molly’s defiant shouts, it was hard to tell who would receive his wrath.
“Quiet!” he bellowed. Then he twisted to look at Cade. “Malone! Mollinshka wants hits, direct
attacks. Not good idea,” Coach explained in his thick accent while gesturing with his left hand. “They
shoot faster than safe to drive car!”
A lump formed in my throat. This was the part where I was supposed to advocate for my kid to get
beaten up by pucks or she’d have a rotten time. I wrung my hands quietly trying to figure out what to
say.
Cade looked back at me.
“Let her play,” I said, my voice stronger than I thought it would be.
He raised an eyebrow in hesitation. “Ms. Hannigan, she’s recovering from major surgery. We did
have you sign waivers, but we still have to be cautious.”
 I swallowed hard. “I just mean give her a meaningful practice. She came here for that. It was what
she wanted.” I nodded to her standing next to the posts with her hand on her hip. “Still is.”
Cade nodded, then spoke quietly with Coach while everyone else all spoke at once. Coach put his
fingers in his mouth to create the most ear-piercing whistle I’ve ever heard, his signal for the team to
stop talking and listen. The men knelt awaiting their instructions.
Cade took a deep breath. “Look, the girl can play.”
Coach nodded. “Don’t go full bore. Give 50-75% of what you can do. More bark, less bite to
hits.”
“Avoid her driver’s side leg, though,” I cried, desperate to make sure she has fun, but just as
desperate to avoid the need to repair her leg again.
“Upper or lower leg?” number 92 asked, and I noticed he was the man who held the door for me.
I narrowed my eyes. “Upper. Why?”
He gave a smile showing me he was missing a tooth. “Believe it or not, we do have control over
where the biscuit flies.”
The other men laughed, some in agreement and others rolling their eyes. I let out a huff and bit my
tongue, trying to stop myself from making a smart comment. Now wasn’t the time. I wouldn’t
antagonize them before they were hitting pucks at Molly.
From the ice, Molly fidgeted looking annoyed. “Come on, guys. What’s taking so long?” she
griped. “Wait, are you afraid of a girl?”
A few of the players put on a game face that frankly had me concerned.
Coach whistled for the men to go, the drill instructor barked something at them I didn’t
understand, and my stomach was in knots. I hugged my arms around myself hoping I made the right
choice.
Cade chuckled at her taunts. “They really do have more control over the location of the puck than
it seems,” he said trying to reassure me. “They’re professionals, not gangly teenagers.”
I really wondered if I should watch as they increased the intensity of their play. But at this point, I
was drawn to it like a train wreck. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t.
They worked a drill as if it were a real game, with the team divided to play each other five on
five. Molly stood at one goal while Gustav took the goal on the other side of the ice. Angus stood
behind Molly, there to guide her, be there as her ally. As the drill progressed, Molly wasn’t quiet
about calling out to the defenders to do their part to protect her, barking out orders like a general in
battle.
When they took a break to exchange team members and have some water, Molly lifted her mask
and smiled. Really smiled like she was a kid without a worry in the world. It was the smile of a
champion having the time of her life. Seeing her this way made all the snippy remarks, all the barked
orders, and all my frayed nerves absolutely worth it.
Throughout the break, she razzed the players like she was one of them and it surprised me when
they treated her the same way.
When they got back to it, I saw number 92 with a breakaway and heading right toward Molly. She
was down in a crouch on the side of the goal closest to me, tensed and ready to pounce on the puck,
but at the last second, she popped up with her glove at the ready. Everyone sucked in a breath.
“He wouldn’t,” Cade whispered.
I felt my heart rate ratchet up again. “Wouldn’t what? What’s happening?”
Cade shook his head quickly. “No, the only reason she’d be in that position is if he …”
And then we saw the puck flying through the air toward the opposite side of the goal. And it was
high. Above her head. Completely out of reach!
But this was Molly.
With an unparalleled determination, she squatted low then pushed up to leap for it. My body rose
involuntarily when I saw the way she pushed off her skates. With the weight of the pads, this was too
much for her. I knew her body wasn’t ready for it. She probably did too, but it wasn’t in her to let it
go. She had to give it her all.
I was already making my way to the aisle when I saw her muscles strain. Pain contorted her face.
She gave the cry of a warrior, but she couldn’t get to the other side of the goal fast enough to snatch it
from the air. The puck sailed into the net behind her. Molly landed with a crash, falling flat on her
face.
“The fuck, man?” Some players shouted to number 92.
I was already at the boards, following the medic onto the ice. “Molly? Molly, are you okay?”
But all we heard was a groan.
2
 K I LE Y

“M olly?Molly
My name is Donnie,” the medic said, “did you hit your head?”
pushed up a little to look at him. “No. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I said and offered her an arm, which she rejected.
Donnie tried again. “What hurts?”
Molly sighed as she took off her mask. “My pride,” she said wincing.
I huffed. “Clearly, it’s more than that, sweetie. Talk to Donnie so he can assess you,” I insisted,
using my mom tone. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
Molly glared at me. “Don’t you dare. I’m fine!”
Donnie looked up at me. I pled with him with my eyes to go through a full assessment. This was
important. This was her ability to walk.
Coach skated out, looked down at Molly, and bellowed. “Panchenko!”
I looked up to see number 92 look genuinely confused. “What? I stayed away from her leg.”
Nope. That was it. The pressure of her diagnosis, her suffering during chemo and radiation, and
her attitude as she healed all mixed together with this new terror about her well-being fueled my
impending explosion.
Pushing up from where I was crouched by Molly, I lunged at this jackass, Panchenko. “You stayed
away from her leg? Are you kidding me right now?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t hit her leg was all I meant.”
I gave him a shove and raged. “Didn’t hit her leg. She’s on the ground! You think hitting her in the
leg was the only way she could be reinjured? What were you thinking hitting that far from her? You
didn’t think she would jump to try to catch it?”
“Well, sure, I—” he started.
But I wasn’t done. “You’ve seen her determination since she arrived on the ice today! And you
know the goal is six feet wide. She was at the opposite side. The only way for her to block that shot
was to jump. And you choose where you put the puck, right, hotshot?”
He crossed his arms around his stick and huffed. “She didn’t have to go for it.”
I kept advancing on him, shouting. “She didn’t have to? You didn’t think she would?”
“No, well, yes, but I didn’t think it would bother her leg.”
I shook my head at him, staring him down, then caught his eyes with mine. “You didn’t think
landing with the extra weight of her pads might create a problem for her leg, you genius? It’s held
together with a metal implant, some well-earned muscle, and a weakened bone! Did all those
concussions in your career steal your common sense? Or do you just not give a shit if she breaks the
implant and needs another surgery?”
 At some point it occurred to me that he could have held his ground. But whether it was because he
was on skates or out of self-preservation, he let me advance on him until his back was to the boards
next to the penalty box.
Panchenko sighed and looked defeated. “Look, it was just practice for her. She should practice
catches to the sides, too, not just ground stuff. I didn’t want to treat her like a kid. And I didn’t think
—”
Any semblance of holding my temper was gone as I poked him to accentuate my rage. “That’s just
it. You didn’t think! And now I have to talk her into going for an assessment,” poke, “that she’ll fight
me tooth and nail on,” poke, “just to make sure your brilliant shot,” poke, “didn’t undo a brutal
surgery she had to cut out a part of her femur,” poke. “And if her bone fractured around it, her surgeon
will be discussing plans for amputation.” I looked up at him seething. “Do you feel good about
yourself now? Bullying a thirteen-year-old girl recovering from bone cancer?”
I opened the penalty box door beside me and with one last shot with both hands, I pushed him
inside. Well, he had to take a step back or fall on his ass. With him distracted, I used the opportunity
to throw the door shut in his face. He almost looked repentant for a minute, but I didn’t care. I raced
across the ice to get back to Molly. She was sitting while Donnie had her doing a few stretches.
“If there’s pain, you might have a little strain there,” Donnie said, “but I don’t detect any major
breaks. Without taking you for x-rays, I can’t tell if the bone and implant are intact or not. There could
be a hairline fracture. Should we get you up and see if you can stand?”
Molly huffed. “Of course, I can stand.”
“Just take it slow,” I cautioned.
Molly threw me a glare, then clutched Donnie’s arm to balance herself as she rose. Angus stood
next to her, offering her a hand which she took. His eyes showed he was assessing her, silently
supporting her. When she was up, the other guys started applauding. She took a little bow, then
Donnie had her do a few more stretches and a couple moves in front of the goal.
Molly looked over at me. “See? I’m fine. It was just a rough landing.”
Donnie searched her face for signs of pain. Unfortunately, she had become incredibly good at
hiding her grimaces and winces from medical professionals. He had her perform a few more stretches
and then stand square on the leg. Even though she tried to hide her pain from me, I knew from the
tension in her face that she felt some amount of pain. Problem was I had no idea how bad it really
was and I knew she would never admit to it.
So, I had a choice. A crap choice. I could either insist she stop practicing and she would hate me
forever or let her play hurt and risk serious damage.
I was about to call her away when Molly took charge. “All right boys, let’s go!”
Her voice carried with such strength the men responded with hoots and hollers, everyone racing
down the ice, heading right for us. Donnie, thank goodness, pulled me out of the way before I was
trampled. A puck whizzed by my head. When I tracked where it came from, Panchenko gave me a
wolfish grin.
As he rapidly approached me, he yelled. “You do realize the penalty box doesn’t lock, right?”
He skated by me so fast, his tailwind almost knocked me down.
Donnie steadied me and threw him a scowl. “Fucking showoff.”
I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me off-kilter. “A serious design flaw that should be
remedied,” I yelled back at him.
“Panchenko! Behave or meet bench,” Coach growled.
He gave Coach a middle finger. I supposed these things were encouraged in a sport this brutal, but
Coach didn’t look pleased.
Trying not to show I was affected by his antics, I found my seat and pulled out my phone. I had a
missed message from Joy. Probably checking on us. I’d see her later. I snapped a few pictures of
Molly practicing, chatting with Angus, and looking like she was having a blast, then put it away.
Looking at Cade, I tipped my chin toward the ice. “What’s the deal with 92?”
He sighed. “Ilya Panchenko. Back to skating here with the Raptors after a shoulder separation last
year during a Cavaliers game. He’s rehabbed it, but now he feels he has something to prove, I guess.”
I sighed, now not as able to stay irritated with him as I originally intended. When something hit
hard and got you down, you felt like you had to prove the experience made you stronger. You’d do
anything to avoid the pity, the stares, the patronizing pats on the head. Molly did it every day. And
maybe I knew a little something about it too.
Cade had his eyes glued on the practice. Without looking at me, he asked, “How is she?”
“She’s hurting but too stubborn to stop. Kind of how life is with her every day.”
But he didn’t even acknowledge me. I wasn’t even sure he was listening. He was staring at the ice
with the utmost concentration, staring like he’d never seen it before.
While they played, a cool breeze rushed over the arena and with it some sort of shift in the
atmosphere. I shuddered and rubbed my hands on my arms. Molly spoke to the guys in her usual
imposing way. Quips went back and forth. Corrections and opportunities did too.
With the way she was playing, her laser focus on the puck, her comments, and her way of doing
things, an air of respect settled over the ice. But not just with her. It was between the players too.
Without interference from instructors or coaches, everyone just stood watching the guys working
together, passing the puck and trusting each other to defend and attack when necessary.
Looking over at Cade, I saw he was lost to the world, in an awe-filled stupor. “It can’t be,” he
murmured. “It just can’t be.”
I didn’t know what he meant, so I gave him a minute. Something had him all worked up and I
couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was. They were just playing hockey.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.
I placed my hand on his arm. “Are you okay, Mr. Malone? Should I get Donnie?”
When Coach turned around and made a gesture to Cade, he finally started breathing again. “This
is it. It’s finally happening,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his jaw.
“What’s happening?” I asked, seriously confused right now. I saw exactly what he was seeing, but
they just looked like hockey players practicing to me.
Cade flopped back in his seat. “I can’t believe it. They’re finally acting like a team.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What? Haven’t they always been a team?”
He shook his head. “For the last several years, we have individual players who come together to
play hockey. But now, what I’m seeing here? We have a team. They’re doing what we’ve been trying
to get them to do. They’re passing, working together, not just trying to get the stat.”
I cleared my throat. “You mean they don’t always play this way?”
Cade pulled his attention from the ice to look at me. “Not once last year in pre-season, practice,
or games until now.” He turned back to the ice and shook his head slowly in wonder.
Coach looked back at him pointedly. Something passed between them, but I couldn’t tell what.
Cade looked to me again. “This is what we needed. She is what we needed.”
I thought he was being a little dramatic, but the look on his face told me he was completely
serious. There was no denying the guys were working well together. Could they really attribute that to
Molly, though?
 “Don’t go offsides, you asshole!” Molly shouted, pulling our focus back to the ice.
Cade chuckled. “Does she always talk like this?”
I nodded. “Only when she’s playing hockey does she have a horribly foul mouth. But it started
after she survived cancer and started thriving again. So, I try to be grateful for everything, including
the mouth she’s developed. Even when it spews,” I stopped when I heard Molly taunt one of the
players and shouted an obscenity at another, “well, that.”
Cade gave a hearty laugh. “She’s good for them. And look, they’re good for her too.”
Molly fell down on the puck, then tossed it to one of the coaches acting as a referee. I nodded.
There was nothing that made her happier.
Cade moved to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to the seat in front of him again. Without
taking his eyes off the ice, he spoke. “Would you consider bringing her back?”
My mouth dropped. “Wait, what?”
Cade turned to look at me. “They respect her. She pushes them. Would you bring her back to do
more of this?”
“You can’t be serious,” I blurted.
His gaze was intense. “Very serious.”
My brows furrowed. “I-I don’t know.”
I looked out and saw Molly slapping Angus on the arm with collegial familiarity while shouting
at, oh goodness, was that Bobby Halster, the star forward of the Raptors?
I twisted the gold sunflower necklace my aunt gave me. “Like once or twice?”
He shook his head. “For the season.”
I gasped. “But she has school, playing with the Flames. What do you mean ‘for the season’?”
He sat back and crossed his arms. “Look, our guys benefit from having her around. She likes it
too. Maybe she comes a couple times a week. Does some more of this, on or off the ice. You know
she’d want to.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. I was a master at recognizing guilt and manipulation when I heard it
and that was exactly what was happening.
Molly snatched the puck out of the air in her glove, then released it to one of her team members
with a sassy remark. The guys responded and passed the puck back and forth all the way down the
ice.
Cade whooped and rubbed his forehead in wonder. “Look at them!” he hollered. Then he looked
back at me. “Just bring her back. Let them have fun!”
I knew she would love to do it, but what would it mean? What would be her role? If she was
some sort of a consultant, she knew her value and deserved something for it. But no one mentioned
putting her on the payroll. Did they expect her to volunteer her time? Do this for free?
But I also saw the value of this experience on a future career in coaching, if it was what she
wanted to do someday. Would she want to work in the league someday coaching or assisting? Would
this be an internship or stepping stone toward a future career for her? Whether she was paid or not,
this work experience would be incredible for her future resume.
Then it hit me. Future. Molly’s future. It had been so long since we could stop and look forward to
her future. The thought was completely overwhelming as it manifested in this quasi-job offer.
Surely, she would want a future where she had choices. Where she had school and friends. Why
would she want to shackle herself to a hockey team when she could be out socializing with her
friends? The friends she had to stay away from while she was in treatment because they carried too
many germs? The friends she isolated herself from because she was too sore and exhausted to get out
of bed? Shouldn’t she have a chance to be a normal teenager?
No, she could watch them at games, idolize them from afar, and still be that carefree kid. I
wouldn’t even tell her about the offer. The answer was no.
Clearing my throat, I turned to Cade. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Malone, I do, but we won’t be
coming back. Molly is very busy with her studies. She’s still catching up from how much school she
missed when she was sick.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “What about weekends?”
I shook my head. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” I said rising. I turned and headed
down to stand at the glass away from the pushy General Manager. I’d had enough of Cade Malone for
one day.
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