Page 37

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

REECE

H alloween. Game day. Always a circus.

Kids in costumes ran through the halls of the arena, high on sugar and excitement. Vendors handed out candy, players tossed out high-fives, and somewhere, a poor intern probably cried under the weight of some last-minute logistic nightmare.

I loved it.

But this year, I really loved it.

Because Bree brought Benny.

He wore a tiny plush lion costume—headphones snug over his ears to keep the sound out, his little hands clutching his orange plastic jack-o’-lantern candy bucket like an old woman clutching her handbag to her chest when walking through a room full of teens.

His eyes were wide, taking everything in but not overwhelmed, not today.

Bree had timed it perfectly—got him in and through the lobby early, when it was still calm.

When they’d reached the locker room, Benny looked right at me and stretched those little arms up without hesitation.

No one said anything, but the look on Bishop’s face told me he noticed. Hell, everyone noticed .

I crouched and scooped Benny into my arms, feeling the soft puff of his costume press against my chest while Bree gestured with her chin that she was heading to the restroom.

“Hey, bud,” I murmured. “Look at you.”

He pressed his little forehead against my shoulder because he knew me. Because I was something safe. I didn’t even try to fight what that did to me.

Bishop leaned against the wall, taping his stick. “Jaycee should be here any minute.”

“She stopping by the locker room?” I asked, rocking Benny slowly side to side. That always got me a smile.

“Hell yeah, she is. I’m walking with her and LJ for a little before we have to suit up again.”

“Can we walk with you?”

Bishop just grinned because he thought he knew something about me. Some secret. Please, he got exactly what I agreed to give.

I looked at Benny. “You want to go trick-or-treating with LJ?”

His eyes said yes .

“Daddy!” LJ shouted as he burst through the door, arms outstretched. Bishop scooped his boy up. The kid wore a peanut costume.

“How’s my little peanut?” he said and LJ smiled. Jaycee sauntered up behind him, leaning in to steal a kiss from Bishop before looking at me.

“Hey, Baker,” she said, then she looked to Benny. “Hey, Benny. Are you a lion?”

Benny gave her his attention. That was his yes.

“Ready to go?” she asked me and her husband as Bree joined us again.

Right. Let’s do this.

The four of us strolled through the concourse—me, Bishop, Jaycee, and Bree—while Benny walked slowly between us, switching between holding hands and then riding on my back, piggyback style, like a pro.

Every vendor had a bucket and a smile, and Benny made it through each stop on a mission to collect more candy than he’d ever eat in a year.

I carried his loot when the pumpkin got too heavy.

He clutched a lollipop with sticky pride.

And me? I couldn’t stop watching them.

Bree in her jeans and team hoodie, her hair pulled up, that small, proud smile on her face. I’d never done anything like this. Trick-or-treating in a packed stadium with a kid that felt like mine , even if I didn’t have the right to say it out loud.

But damn if I didn’t feel it.

Eventually, it got to be too much—the noise, the movement.

Bree caught the first signs in Benny’s posture, in the little way his fingers flapped by his sides.

We were planning on heading out when Benny crumpled to the floor, clearly done with it all.

She crouched down to his level and pulled him into her arms, pressing her forehead gently to his.

“We’re going home,” she said quietly. “He’s had enough.”

I nodded, swallowing the tight feeling in my chest. I didn’t want them to leave.

But I understood.

So I knelt, kissed the top of Benny’s head, and caught Bree’s eyes as she adjusted his headphones.

“Text me when you’re home safe,” I said.

She nodded. “Good luck tonight.”

I didn’t say anything more. If I had, it might’ve been too much .

That night, the announcer came over the PA during warmups to share the charity benefit details. The weekend after Thanksgiving. A full weekend. Donations at all tiers went directly toward funding therapy, mobility aids, and sensory tools for kids across the region.

Lowest tier: free tickets to Saturday night’s game.

Middle tier: skate with the players on Sunday afternoon .

Highest tier: play in a game with your favorite players Sunday night.

The crowd roared when Bishop took the mic before the anthem.

“Every dollar raised,” he said, “will be matched by the Copperheads players.”

People lost it .

And when the puck dropped, we brought it. The whole team played like we had something to prove. Fast, clean, relentless.

We won 4–2.

My saves were solid. Bishop had a goal, which for a center, was really sweet. He hardly ever got to score. His job was to get the puck to Bonner or Jones, his wings on the ice. But the real highlight?

That feeling—the one that settled deep in my gut, telling me I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do.

And when the locker room celebration died down, and the guys peeled off to find their families or the nearest bar, I didn’t even think twice.

I drove straight home.

Lights were low when I stepped inside. My mom’s door was closed—she’d already turned in for the night. I took the stairs two at a time, quiet as I could, and found our bedroom door cracked just enough for the hallway light to spill in.

Bree was stretched out on the bed, wearing one of my oversized tees—hers now, unofficially. Her hair was up in a messy knot, her face makeup-free and beautiful as hell. She looked up when I stepped in and gave me a soft smile.

“Hey,” she whispered. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” I said, tugging off my hoodie. “Game went great. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

She nodded toward the other side of the bed. “He’s out cold.”

Sure enough, Benny was curled up on the far side, nestled into a small mountain of blankets with a stuffed dragon under one arm.

His headphones rested on the nightstand, and I could see the faint outline of his costume peeking out from beneath his pajamas—he must’ve refused to take it off.

It reminded me of when I was little, begging my mom to let me wear my “Superman cape” to bed, which had been nothing more than a bath towel safety-pinned to the back of my pajama shirt.

I showered quickly and threw on a pair of cotton shorts, then climbed into bed behind Bree, sliding my arm around her waist and pulling her close.

She melted into me with a sigh, her back warm against my chest.

“Thanks for today,” she murmured.

“Was one of my best,” I said quietly.

And I meant it.

I looked past her to the sleeping boy we both loved, listened to the even hum of the house, and let myself drift.

Because this—her in my arms, Benny within reach, all of us under one roof—felt more like home than anything ever had.

And I wasn’t letting go.

I’d find a reason to keep her with me.