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I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

He and Griff exchange a glance.

Griff takes a swig of his beer. “Then prove it. Be better now.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You already started,” Beckett says. “You came back.”

I shift on the couch, restless. “What if I’m too late?”

Abby moves closer, Violet now fully asleep against her chest. “If she didn’t still care, Wes, she wouldn’t be this angry. It’s not indifference that’s got her slamming doors and giving you the cold shoulder. It’s heartbreak.”

“And hope,” Beckett adds. “Maybe a tiny bit. Don’t let that hope die.”

He grabs a folder from the end table and tosses it onto the coffee table. I recognize the youth academy letterhead.

“What’s this?”

“An offer,” Beckett says. “Assistant coaching position. It’s yours if you want it.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“We’re expanding. More kids signing up every week. We need more hands. And you’re good with the older kids. The onestrying to decide if they want to make a run for college or the league.”

“I thought you had that covered.”

“I can’t be in two places at once,” Beckett says. “And I trust you. So does Abby.”

Abby nods, her voice soft but steady. “The younger kids need structure. The teens? They need someone they can relate to. Someone who’s been there. You don’t just have the experience, Wes—you have the empathy. The presence.”

Beckett chimes in, “You’ve got the patience, too. You know how to read a kid’s frustration and redirect it. The ones on the edge—the ones struggling between committing and giving up—they’ll listen to you. Even Jake looks up to you like you walk on water.”

I glance at the folder. “What would I be doing?”

“Weekday practices, helping run drills and strategy sessions, reviewing game film with the travel team. Saturday games with the juniors, mentoring some of the older high schoolers applying for college scholarships. We’ve got a few with raw talent but no one showing them what to do with it.”

Griff adds, “And there’s a new community outreach initiative. Hockey nights at the rec center. Clinics for low-income kids who can’t afford travel teams. We need someone to lead that program. You’d be perfect.”

That one hits home. I grew up on borrowed skates and secondhand pads. I know what it’s like to love the game but feel left out of the system.

“You’d be designing drills for kids who’ve never even laced skates properly,” Griff says, leaning forward. “Like, full starter-level intro—balance work, skating basics, maybe even games to keep it fun. Half of them just want a chance to feel like they belong.”

“And the other half?” I ask.

“They want a reason to believe they’re not stuck,” he replies. “You could be that reason.”

My throat tightens. I imagine standing on the blue line in the smaller rink at the rec center. Kids in mismatched helmets and gloves, wide-eyed and nervous. I’d hand them pucks and teach them how to shoot, how to pivot, how to trust themselves on ice.

It’s not a highlight reel on national TV. But itmeanssomething.

Abby smiles a little, rocking Violet in her arms. “She used to say you had two speeds: ‘full steam ahead’ or ‘completely avoidant.’”

Griff lets out a short laugh. “Yup. She said it like it was both a compliment and a threat.”

I roll my eyes. “Sounds about right.”

“She also said,” Abby continues, “that you had the softest hands of any hockey guy she ever met.”