Page 56 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)

With that she heads back into the laundry room, leaving me to decide on what to do about my dad. Heading into the living room, I take a seat on the couch, facing the newly decorated wall. My gaze lands on the photo of me, scoring my first ever goal.

He should’ve been there.

If I don’t try to fix this, how many more important milestones will he miss?

Taking a deep breath I pull up my brother’s number, video calling him. After a few moments, he picks up, his face erupting in a smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the Ranger who made a comeback two games into the playoffs. Was it all for dramatic flair, bro, or did you really suck that bad the first game?”

Noah’s playful tone lifts my spirits.

“You’ll never know,” I say with a small chuckle. “How are things going over there? Not working too hard right?”

He shrugs. “There’s always work to do. Never got me down before.”

I hesitate for a second before diving straight in. No risk, no reward.

“Listen,” I start, scratching my beard that needs a bit of a trim. “I want to send you and dad a few tickets for the final game. Hannah’s family will probably also come up. It’ll be great to have everyone here.”

Noah’s smile falters a bit. “You know how things are, Luke. I’m not the one calling the shots.”

I sigh. Knowing how things work back home. You live under my dad’s roof, you follow his rules. “Just give the phone to him, Noh.”

“You sure?” he asks, getting up and walking. “You want to do this now?”

Do I? I’m already here, I’ve already decided to do something. If I can’t insist on us putting aside our past to be together for something like the Stanley Cup Final, then what are we even doing?

“Yes,” I say, determined. “I want my family with me.”

Noah hands the phone over, and it doesn’t take long for my dad’s face to appear on the screen. He’s already frowning like the call itself is some kind of inconvenience. The lines on his forehead are more prominent than the last time I saw him, and a small flash of guilt moves through me.

“Lucas, my boy,” he says, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s tilting the phone awkwardly.

“Can’t we talk like normal people?” he mutters, the camera pointing at the ceiling, then the floor, then somewhere near his shoulder. “Why is my head so big on this thing?”

Before I can respond, he shoves the phone back toward Noah, who chuckles at our dad. “Turn it off. I can’t talk like that.”

Some people just don’t get video calls, and Cal Walker is the worst of them.

“Whichever way you want it, Dad,” I say, shifting forward. “We’re still having this conversation.”

A few seconds later, the screen goes black and I press the phone to my ear. I can hear my dad settle into the creaky kitchen chair he’s had for over a decade.

“Son,” he says, his voice more settled. “This is much better. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Just wanted to talk,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I was thinking that I’d send you and Noah a couple tickets for the final game.”

There’s a pause, like he’s bracing himself for the weight of my request.

“Everything here is busy,” he says finally, the usual excuse wrapped in a layer of discomfort. “We’re short-handed, as always. ”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Heavenly Father, please. Help me be patient. Help me handle this with grace. I know he loves us. I know he’s tired. I know he’s facing pride and disappointment and he’s human, which means he’s broken just like all of us. But please…help him meet me halfway.

“I get that, Dad. I really do. But this…this doesn’t happen all the time. We could win the Stanley Cup. It’s the first time in years the Rangers are in the finals.”

He exhales, slow and heavy. I decide to push a little more.

“Hannah’s family will be coming too. I want all of you to stay with us in Westchester, we’ve got more than enough room here at the house.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and it’s like I can see what’s going through my dad’s mind. I’ve known him with my mom and I’ve known him without her. And after her death, it’s like his stubborn streak quadrupled. He wants to come. But he doesn’t want to say it.

“Maybe Noah could come up with them then,” he says, proving me right. “He’s been working hard. Might be good for him to get away. Besides, I know Pastor Mark will keep an eye on him over there.”

I sigh, rubbing my eyes. I lean back on the couch, staring at the ceiling for a beat, debating whether or not to give in or to keep pushing. To be honest with him.

“I want both of you,” I say, my voice a little tighter than before. “Please.”

He sighs but doesn’t say anything and I know it’s because he’s thinking again. Cal Walker is weighing and measuring, like he always does.

“I want you here. You and Noah. Not just for the game, but for everything. I want you to see what my life looks like up here, what it looks like with Hannah in it.”

The silence from the other end of the phone is deafening.

And then …

”I saw what your life looked like with her in it,” he mutters, his voice laced with anger. “For two years. Then I saw what it looked like when she left.”

I can’t ignore the sting of his words.

“I know you think she broke me after school,” I say, not trying to be defensive, just honest. “And maybe I was a bit broken for a while. But she didn’t make me leave, Dad. That was me. That was always me.”

He grunts before silence stretches between us. I know my dad. He doesn’t like being pushed. But sometimes if you just leave him some room, he’ll meet you halfway.

“It’s not easy, Luke,” he finally says. “Being proud and bitter at the same time. Watching you do good out there and still feeling like I’m losing something. Every time you skate onto that ice, I wonder if you’ll ever be back home again.”

I blink hard, still looking up at the ceiling. I didn’t think he watched me play at all.

“I will,” I promise. “Not yet, but one day I’ll be back. That’s always been my plan.”

He clears his throat, a deep, gravelly sound I’ve heard my whole life.

“I still don’t like the city. The people. The noise,” he says. “All the screaming is too much.”

I smile a little. “You’ll survive, Dad. Besides, out here it’s a lot quieter. A lot like home.”

Another sigh, but this time it sounds like something is loosening.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally says. “I’m not making any promises. But I’ll think about it.”

I close my eyes, breathing in that tiny thread of hope. We haven’t dealt with all our issues, but today is a step in the right direction.

“Fair enough,” I say. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Thank you, Heavenly Father.

I step out of the shower, running a towel over my hair before pulling on a pair of sweats. Steam drifts into the room behind me, my mind still on the conversation I had with my dad earlier. I want him to come, and I also want him to make his peace with Hannah and with our marriage.

I sigh, hanging the now wet towel over the bathroom door.

It doesn’t feel like we’ve been able to catch our breath and regroup since the moment we ran into each other.

Now I understand why so many other NHL players opt to get married in the off-season instead.

Marriage is difficult enough. Add the playoffs and Vegas and media and family drama…

and it’s easily the hardest thing I’ve ever had to adjust to in my entire life.

After it’s all over hopefully we can reset and spend some much needed time alone. It might help us to figure out where we are, what we want, and how we can move forward in a way that brings us nothing but peace and happiness.

As I step into the room, the worry melts away as my gaze lands on the reason this is all worth it.

Hannah Sanders is lying in my bed, her golden hair spilling over my pillow like sunlight.

The sight stops me in my tracks, like some part of me doesn’t believe this is real.

Her being here, with me—it’s everything I didn’t know I could hope for.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to having her here, and a part of me never wants to get used to the sight of her.

It’s terrifying. Because I don’t know what I would do if I lose this.

If I lose her …I don’t think I could take it.

Her eyes widen slightly as she takes me in, and I realize I’m just standing there, staring.

I clear my throat and gesture toward my chest. “I can grab a shirt if this is too much,” I offer, trying to sound casual, even though my heart’s pounding harder than skates slamming into the boards during a hard shift.

Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head.

“No, it’s not…” she says softly, her gaze dropping for a moment before landing on the chain around my neck. “You’re wearing your ring,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I glance down, lifting the chain where my wedding band rests.

“I’ve worn it since that morning when I found you were gone,” I admit. “With games, practice, and training, this is just easier.”

Her gaze drops to her hands, now fumbling in her lap. We’ve been dancing around the subject, but the expression on her face tells me that we’re having this conversation right now.

Without saying a word, she gets out of bed.

Her pink pajamas fit her perfectly and it’s hard not to notice her soft, perfect frame as she walks toward the dressing table.

A wave of longing moves through me, fierce and not entirely welcome.

I try to shake it off, but it lingers…hot, real, and restless.

She’s my wife in every way, and still we haven’t found our way back to each other.

She opens the drawer and pulls something out.

When she turns back to me, the fire inside quiets because resting in the palm of her hand is her wedding ring.

“I took it off before I got out of the car back home,” she says, not meeting my gaze. “I wasn’t ready to tell my parents about us, and…I didn’t feel like I deserved to wear it after what I’d done.”

Her words hit me like a gut punch.