Page 62 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)

“Luke?” she asks, her voice fragile and uncertain.

I just shake my head before looking down. The battle inside of me is roaring louder than anything that happened on the ice.

Anger.

Gratitude.

Fear.

Frustration.

Faith.

“Lucas?” Hannah asks again, this time she’s in front of me. I don’t even know when she moved. Her hands are on my cheeks, her thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t know I’d cried. My gaze locks on hers, her green eyes searching for something.

“This might mean that I can’t play for the Rangers next year,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel unreal, yet I know they’re mine. Disconnected, yet true.

Getting traded is a hard reality in this world. Some players switch teams every three to four years, some even more frequent. I’ve silently been hoping and praying that I’d get to wear the Rangers jersey for a very long time, that I’ve worked hard enough to earn that spot.

“Why would it mean that?” she asks gently. “That was something horrible that happened to you out there, but thank God you’re okay. Thank God that they’re only keeping you off the ice for twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, but it’s a critical twenty-four hours. This is the Cup final, Hannah.” My voice catches. “It’s what we all dream of.”

“And next year, you’ll be here again. I’m sure of it.”

I want to believe her. But fear is gnawing at me, working together with anger to get me down.

“If I can’t help the team win the Cup, why would they keep me around next year?” I ask the hard, realistic question. “I don’t have a no-trade clause in my contract. I could easily be traded to a different team. They could ship me off tomorrow and nobody would blink twice.”

“I don’t think they’ll trade you,” Hannah says, carefully running her hand through my hair, grounding me. “But even if they do, I’ll follow you wherever you want to go. You’re my husband. Where you go, I go. Your home is my home. Your God is my God.”

A shaky laugh escapes my lips. “Even if I get traded to the Flames? Calgary is very cold.”

“Sounds like we’ll get to start our honeymoon early then,” she says, smiling through the unshed tears. “And I’ll just stock up on my tuques.”

I let her words settle inside my heart. It’s strange to think that I’ll never be alone in this anymore.

Being traded or losing the game…those things used to feel like the end of the world.

But now, I’ll still have Hannah. I’ll still have my marriage to the most wonderful woman, the woman I’m convinced God handcrafted just for me.

“I want to be able to go out there,” I admit to her. “I know how grateful I should be, I know God is faithful and I should trust His plan. But…” My voice breaks.

“But it’s hard,” she finishes for me. “And it’s not easy.

Facing the possibility of laying down the thing you love most?

” she slowly shakes her head, taking my hands in hers.

“You’re human, Luke. You’re allowed to feel this way.

You’re allowed to break, to grieve, to wrestle.

As long as you don’t allow it to drown out the truth. ”

I nod, eyes trained on our interlocked fingers, her thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of my hand. “And what’s the truth?”

“You’re worth more than the stats. More than your contract. More than your jersey. You’re a son of the Almighty. He’s got a plan and a purpose for your life that’s going to make this moment seem small in comparison.”

She leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine. I drink in her closeness and her vanilla scent. The warmth of her presence and her words envelopes me, easing my heartbeat, allowing my mind to clear.

I’ve got you, Lucas.

The tears come faster now, and I don’t try to stop them.

“I love you,” I say, my voice not as steady as I’d like it to be.

“I love you more.” She presses her lips against mine. Soft and sure.

And for the first time since I skated onto the ice, it feels like I can breathe more easily.

Not because the fear and the anger is gone.

But because faith is louder.

Because God is near.

Because I don’t have to fight anything alone anymore.

Sitting on the bench without my helmet or my stick feels wrong. I lean on the gratitude inside my heart instead of the confusion or the anger.

I’m here, I’m alright and I get to support my team in any way possible.

It’s better than nothing right ?

The arena is humming with excitement and the fans are reacting to every move across the ice. The deep thrum of the organ leading the chants, the smell of sweat-filled gloves and fresh ice being shaved up…It's all familiar, yet I feel like a bystander on my own team.

Wyatt Lindgren is sitting next to me, his knee bouncing as he watches the puck like a hawk. EJ is adjusting the tape on his stick, his eyes glued to the ice.

My linemates, my team.

They called on Callahan to fill my spot.

An older guy who hasn’t really featured in the postseason, but now he’ll have to perform.

He’s a steady presence on the roster, but he’s never had to face a game with stakes like this.

He can either rise to the occasion, or it can break the Ranger’s momentum, forcing us into game seven.

A dull ache throbs behind my eyes reminding me that I shouldn’t be here at all. But I couldn’t leave the arena knowing that my team is out here playing. Which is why Coach allowed me to sit on the bench in a hoodie and a ballcap.

After a heated argument with Dr. Kessler, she cleared me to watch, but not to dress.

I agreed and quickly got out of my gear to support my team.

The jumbotron flashes overhead, calling the attention of the crowd.

LUCAS WALKER — OUT (CONCUSSION PROTOCOL)

And then my face appears on the screen. A live feed of where I’m sitting on the bench, chin tucked low and jaw clenched. The crowd reacts immediately, a roar of sympathy and support rolling through Madison Square Garden.

Usually I’m not aware of when the camera cuts to the bench. I’m too engrossed in the game, in the moment, to care about it. But now, it’s like I can feel thousands of eyes on me.

I can already hear what the commentators are probably saying.

“Walker’s presence on the bench is a good sign.

It’s clear he took a very hard hit earlier and is still under observation.

This is a huge blow for the Rangers, especially in a game like this where losing a player like him could lead to a tragic loss.

He’s been a difference maker all post season. ”

I look up toward the VIP lounge, spotting Hannah sitting next to my dad. He flew in this morning, with Noah. I didn’t expect him to show up but I’m grateful he did. This is the first time he’s ever seen me play, and I couldn’t even make it a full twenty minutes on the ice.

This was supposed to be a step in the direction of reconciliation. A small one, but still, it would’ve been a way for me to show him what I’ve built here, what I’ve fought for.

Now, it feels like I’ve wasted his time. And that he might think I’m wasting mine.

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, forcing the emotion down. I can’t afford to let it show…not now.

“You alright there, Walker?” Coach asks, popping his head over my shoulder from where he’s standing behind the bench. “You wouldn’t rather go home or something?”

“I would rather be on the ice,” I say, trying and failing to keep the cold bite from my voice.

“I know, son.” He pats me on the shoulder, only adding to the emotion I’m trying to shove down.

“You know it would be a different game if I were out there too,” I toss over my shoulder, hoping he knows that I would’ve been able to make a difference on the ice.

“I also know that the moment I put the Cup before player health and safety, I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross. You’re perfect just where you are.” He pats me on the shoulder again. “Believe me.”

I just nod, keeping my eyes on the ice and on the players. I don’t have the energy or the position to argue with him. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make this any easier.

We’re tied 3-3 and there are ten minutes left in the third. It’s still more than enough time to score, or if needed, push to overtime. But it would be better if we could get a lead on them and win the Cup clean.

Coach moves down the line, barking instructions to the guys on the next shift. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, doing my best to block out the pounding in my head and stay focused.

From this angle, just watching, I’m starting to notice things. The Canucks are crowding our guys every time we try to make a play near their goal. They’re closing in fast, forcing us to shoot too early or fumble the puck. But in all their pressure, they’re leaving a gap.

Every time the puck drops behind the net, one of their defensemen chases it too far, leaving the other side of the ice wide open.

“Barney,” I say, loud enough to get his Wyatt Lindgren’s attention. He turns toward me, chewing on his mouthguard.

“Yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly.

“They’re leaving the back door wide open,” I tell him, gesturing toward the ice. “If you can get it behind the net, flip it across. Callahan will be there.”

He looks back at the ice, thinking. EJ leans over, already nodding.

“He’s right,” EJ says. “That kid’s overcommitting. One clean pass and we’ve got a shot.”

Lindgren yanks out his mouthguard and leans forward, shouting down the bench to let Callahan know. It’s a tiny detail, a little shift in strategy. But maybe it’s the opening we need.

I might not be on the ice, but I’m still a part of this.