Page 24

Chapter twenty-four

~ARES~

The rink is alive with energy, the roar of the crowd thundering through the stadium like an endless wave. The bright lights reflect off the ice, blinding me for a second as I step onto the freshly shaved surface. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. The weight of it is all-consuming. I’ve been itching to get back on the ice, but with everything that just happened…I have no idea what awaits me as soon as I step off it.

Brown gathers the players at the bench, his voice booming as he outlines the plan, barking out the lines for the starting shift.

“First line—DiMarco, Black, and Colton.”

My chest tightens. Rowan’s head jerks up as I catch his eye and give him a slight nod.

Coach never starts the three of us together unless we’re desperate or hunting blood. His eyes flick to me for a second, then away, like he’s afraid of what he might say if he looks too long. I can already feel the distance.

I keep my expression neutral, but my lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves.

This isn’t a reward. It’s not a strategy. This is a test.

He saw me with my tongue down his daughter’s throat, pressing her against the wall. And now he wants to see how much of me is still his.

My heart is pounding like it’s trying to tear out of my chest and beg him, please, don’t hate me.

I deserve it, though, don’t I? I could’ve waited until the end of the game. I could’ve walked away without a kiss. But I didn’t because I needed her. I always need her. And now…I don’t know if he’ll ever look at me the same.

I know how this works. I’ve lived this before. You get too close, you hope, you trust, and then they take it back. The warmth, the approval, the place you thought you finally fucking earned—all ripped away.

Coach will start cutting my shifts until I’m slowly forgotten. I can feel it in my bones. He’s about to turn me into a bench warmer out of spite. And what hurts most is knowing that the only man who ever showed up for me…is the one orchestrating my fall.

The puck drops.

The first shift is pure chaos. The Goats are relentless. These guys aren’t here to play nice; they’re here to eliminate us. Every check is a message, every puck battle is a battle for survival. They're on top of us, suffocating us with speed and aggression, pushing the envelope on every play.

The moment I step onto the ice, it’s like a gauntlet. I’m dodging hits, using my body to shield the puck, moving like I’m skating through a minefield.

I skate like I’ve got hell on my heels. Rowan’s to my left. Damien’s barreling down the right. And all I can see is the look of disgust on Brown’s face when he saw me with Irene.

I want to scream. I want to throw something. Instead, I play.

I’m digging deep, fighting for every inch. The Goats’ defensemen are monsters, all muscle and attitude. I can see the goalie, broad and steady in his crease, already anticipating my every move. Every second counts.

I catch Rowan’s eye as we skate up the ice. He’s already read my mind. We’ve been partners too long not to have that instinct. He makes the first pass to me, a hard, fast shot into my skate, and I tap it just enough to get it on my stick. The defenseman, tall as a fucking building, is coming at me hard, but I skate around him, pushing my legs harder.

Rowan’s already set up at the edge of the blue line, looking for the pass, waiting for me to pull the defense so he can find a lane. I know it’s not the right moment—not yet.

Instead, I hold the puck, skating backward as I twist around a defender, feeling his body weight press against mine. I fight to keep my balance, one hand on my stick and the other bracing myself on the defender’s shoulder. The Goats are coming at me from all angles.

This isn’t just about scoring anymore. It’s about surviving. I can see the opening, just barely. But there’s no way in hell I’m making that shot yet. The defense is too tight. Their goalie’s eyes are locked on me, waiting for me to take my shot.

I drop my shoulder, fake the pass, tuck the puck in, and carve between them. I feel a stick slap my ribs, an elbow to my back. I keep going.

Then, I feel the tap—Rowan’s right where I need him. The moment I’m ready to make the pass, I flick my wrist and send the puck to him. He’s in the perfect position. He slaps it. The goalie moves to block it, but Rowan redirects it, changing the angle just enough. The puck sails toward me, and I get ready. It lands cleanly on my stick, and I drive it up the ice. A Goats defenseman drops to his knees, trying to block me. I toe-drag the puck around him and cut sharp right. I only have one shot and zero time.

I pull back and fire, sending the puck flying.

Bar down. Net ripples. The roar of the crowd crashes through me like a wave.

The first goal is mine.

The goal is behind me now, but the game isn’t.

Coach hasn’t called me back to the bench yet, which means I’m staying on for another shift. My hip’s starting to ache a little, my lungs burning, but I skate back into position. I can take it. I’ll take anything they throw at me.

I’m still catching my breath when Damien skates up beside me, helmet slightly tilted, stick tapping against the ice.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

“What?” I glance at him.

He silently jerks his chin toward the stands, and I follow his line of sight.

My breath stalls in my throat when my eyes catch up.

Row 12. Center ice. Irene, standing between Avery and Livia.

Her eyes are on me, her hair down, and body wrapped in a jersey… my jersey.

My name. My number. My colors. On her body.

Everything around me goes silent—the crowd, the music, even the people next to me on the ice.

She’s wearing me. She’s telling the whole world, her father included, that she’s not hiding anymore.

My chest tightens, something too massive to process lodging itself right under my ribs.

She’s here, screaming her choice without saying a word. She’s with me. Publicly.

I look down at the ice and then glance at Brown. His gaze finds mine for the briefest second, lips pressed into a hard line, brow pulled tight. He fucking saw it.

But before I can process what’s in his eyes, Rowan taps my shoulder. Reality slams back in, and I snap my focus back to the game. I tear my eyes off him and lock back in. There’s no more time to think; we have to win this.

But the image is burned into the backs of my eyelids. She’s choosing me in front of the whole goddamn world.

Overtime. 2-2. Panthers vs Goats.

Three minutes left on the clock, and the entire arena feels like it’s holding its breath. I’m back on the ice, vision tunneled and teeth clenched so hard my jaw aches. Every pass, every hit, every second feels like war. The Goats aren’t letting shit slide. It’s brutal. But so am I.

Rowan cuts left, and I mirror him on the right. He knows me, knows where I’ll be before I’m even there. The puck sails from his stick to mine, and I catch it on the fly. The Goats come at me like they’re hunting a kill. A body slams into my side, knocking me off-balance, but I hold steady. I move with vengeance in my blood.

Two defensemen close in, so I drop my shoulder, cut inside, and I’m through. The goalie braces, preparing for a block.

Poor bastard.

I pull left, he bites, and I snipe it top right.

Time slows as the goalie’s glove reaches up, but it’s too late. The puck hits the net, and the red light flares bright.

The horn screams, the arena erupts as I secure the Panthers’ win.

All I can focus on is my pulse, deafening in my ears as the world explodes. The crowd is on their feet, screaming their lungs out.

I throw my head back, breathless.

We fucking did it.

Bodies crash into me—Rowan, Damien, Davidson, everyone screaming and slamming their sticks into the ice. My eyes are already scanning the crowd. And then I see her.

She’s standing, already cheering, hands up in the air.

But then she bends down and picks up something small.

No…someone.

At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at. Then I see her lift a tiny body into her arms. A head of soft curls, big brown eyes, and cheeks flushed with excitement.

She’s holding Mandy.

I freeze. Time drops out from under me. The stadium doesn’t exist anymore.

All around them, around Irene and Mandy, there are a dozen little heads.

My knees almost give out because suddenly, my vision adjusts, and I see them.

The kids.

My kids.

And every single one of them is wearing my jersey. Front and center, arms raised, screaming my name.

My heart lodges somewhere in my throat, pulsing like it doesn’t know how to beat inside a body anymore. Tiny hands wave with red cheeks, eyes shining with pride…for me.

Irene brought them to see me.

I can’t fucking breathe.

I lift my hand and wave back at them, and they all start jumping up and down, even more excited that I waved back.

And that’s when I break. I turn my head, pretending to wipe sweat off my face with my glove, but my eyes burn, and my vision’s swimming, and…fuck.

The tears fall. This is what I’ve been chasing in every fight, every bad night, and every cold morning waking up alone.

Belonging.

And it’s looking back at me with Irene’s smile, Mandy’s curls, and a dozen kids cheering my name like I’m their hero. I don't give a fuck who sees me cry. I’ve never felt this much love in my life.

And I’m not letting it go.

Not for anything.

My skates carve hard into the ice as we huddle up—Rowan, Damien, Langley, Davidson, Stone, everyone. Gloves slap my back, helmets knock mine, someone yells, “FUCKING BLACK!” and everyone lifts their stick in the air to the crowd.

The goal horn is still ringing, the fans still roaring.

We beat the Goats in a grueling, hard fought series, and our team is advancing.

But it’s not the win that’s got my chest squeezing like this. It’s not the crowd or the guys chanting, “Panthers!” in the huddle. I raise my stick again, giving the fans a wave, and slap my teammates’ gloves.

But I don’t want to be here anymore. Not one more fucking second. I want to be with her, with them.

I glance up one last time, my eyes finding Irene. She’s kneeling, showing the kids how to do something with their hands.

It takes me a second to register the sight—I blink, frozen in place.

One by one, the kids start catching on. Tiny fingers fumble, some sideways, some upside down, but every single one of them tries.

And then, they hold them up proudly. A dozen jerseys with ‘BLACK’ written on them. And a dozen little finger hearts in the air.

For me.

The tunnel’s to my left. The locker room’s waiting. But I don’t move.

Because everything I’ve ever wanted is right there in the crowd.

I don’t want the shower. I don’t want the press. I don’t want the boys.

I want them. I want her. Now.

I pivot and skate to the bench, heart thundering. I signal to security, to one of the guys near the entrance to the lower bowl. They see where I’m looking and who I’m looking at, and one nod is all it takes. They get it.

A voice crackles over the radio. One of the ushers waves them down.

Irene gathers the kids, twelve tiny bodies in my jersey, chattering excitedly as they’re guided toward the tunnel entrance.

I wait for them just past the boards. Helmet still on, chest still heaving, adrenaline and emotion choking every breath.

And then I hear them.

“ Ares! ”

Their voices hit me harder than any check—high-pitched, chaotic, full of awe.

Tommy throws both arms up and shouts, “You’re a superhero!”

I drop to one knee as they round the corner, the crowd still roaring above us, and now I’m on the jumbotron, front and center, like this is the only moment that matters.

Because it is.

“What are you guys doing here?” My voice comes out thick.

“Irene brought us!” they yell. “She said you’re the best player ever! We made signs but left them on the bus!”

Cole steps forward, his little hand tugging on my glove. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up.”

I can’t stop the tears. I don’t even try.

I look up, and she’s there. My girl. In my jersey. Tears in her eyes and that smile—God, that smile. Like she knows every inch of me and still chooses to stand right here.

I take off my helmet and place it gently on Cole’s head. It nearly swallows him whole, but he beams like he just won the Cup himself.

Then I rise and walk to her. She’s laughing, and I can’t wait one more second. I drop my gloves and take her face in my hands like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held.

Because she is.

And I kiss her.

It’s not careful. It’s not soft.

It’s everything I’ve held back and finally let loose.

The crowd loses it. Somewhere up above, I hear it:

“Ewwww!”

I pull back and turn, and the kids are laughing, hands covering their eyes like it’s the worst thing they’ve ever seen.

I grin. Irene laughs. And for the first time in my life, I feel whole.

I reach for her hand, and she slides her fingers into mine—warm, soft, and steady.

Fucking home.

Then I turn to Mandy.

“Mandy,” I say, my voice low. She looks up at me, wide-eyed and beaming.

I take her tiny hand in my free one. She holds on like she remembers exactly how long it took me to earn it.

I look at the rest of them—my little crew.

“Alright,” I say, louder now. “Everyone, hold hands.”

Tommy grabs Irene’s other hand. Cole grabs his. Jamie next. One by one, they link up, laughing, stumbling, excited.

I count.

One. Two. Three. Four…

I don’t stop until I hit twelve.

All here.

I glance at Irene. Her smile says everything I can’t. Her eyes are still shining. Her cheeks are flushed.

“You ready to leave?” I ask her quietly.

She nods.

We start walking—me leading them down the tunnel, Irene’s hand in one of mine, Mandy’s in the other.

Twelve little bodies following behind us, jerseys swaying, faces glowing.

Security stands aside, cameras flash, and fans cheer.

But none of that matters.

Because this moment is mine.

And I’m done hiding.

This is my family. And I’m walking them through.

Coach Brown steps out of the corridor.

He doesn’t say a word at first; he just plants himself directly in my path like a goddamn wall. His eyes shift to Irene, her face, her jersey, her hand in mine. Then, down the line of kids behind us, then back to me.

“Ares.” His voice is low, but I still hear it through the muffled roar of the crowd. “Can I have a word with you?” His jaw’s tight.

My stomach knots, but I don’t flinch. I expected this. I owe him this.

I nod once and then crouch.

“Mandy,” I say gently, catching her eyes. “Take Irene’s hand.” She nods without hesitation, and I guide her over, carefully unlinking us. “Just like that.”

Then I look up at Irene. She’s searching my face like she’s trying to read the storm before it hits.

“Wait for me,” I murmur. “By the locker rooms. Please.”

“Ares…”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I give her my best reassuring smile.

She hesitates but then nods. She knows I have to do this on my own. She just doesn’t want me to walk into the fire alone.

She shifts her hand, threading her fingers tighter through Mandy’s and Tommy’s.

“C’mon, guys,” she says softly, turning to the kids. “Let’s give him a minute.”

I watch them go, and then I turn back to Brown. My heart’s thundering, but I meet his eyes.

I’m fucked. I’m so fucking fucked. He’s gonna tell me I’m a disgrace. That I’ve betrayed his trust. That I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from.

I can take it. I will take it.

Because no matter what he says to me, no matter how hard he hits me with his disappointment, it won’t change anything. I’m not walking away from Irene.

But God, it hurts. It hurts because he’s not just my coach. He’s the man who first gave me a reason to believe in something. He’s the one who saw me when I was broken, bitter, and fucking bleeding out behind my own silence. He saved my life.

And now, I’ve disappointed him. He’s going to tell me I’m not worthy of his daughter. That I’ve over stayed my welcome.

I force the words out before he can.

“If you’re going to tell me how angry you are,” I say, my voice low and raw, “I know. I get it. I deserve—”

“Ares,” Brown’s voice cuts through mine, sharp. And then gentler, “Ares. Stop.”

I blink as he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing right in front of me.

And before I can brace for it, he pulls me into a hug. Not just a hug. A bear hug. Like he’s trying to crush years of silence and pain out of my chest with one squeeze. His arms wrap around me with so much force that it actually aches.

I just stand there, frozen and stunned. My arms hover for a second, until I bury my face in his shoulder and grab onto his back like I’m fucking drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough and broken into my ear. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

My breath catches, and an unfamiliar sound slips past my lips. It’s the last thing I expect to hear.

He pulls away, gripping my arms, and looks up at me with glassy eyes and furrowed brows. And his eyes. They're not full of the disappointment I braced myself for, not the anger or disgust I thought would come crashing down on me.

“Ares, I was a fool,” he says, shaking his head. “I was a damn fool. Irene, she said some things to me, and I realized…God, Ares.”

I stare at him, unable to speak. I don’t know what Irene told him, but it must have really shaken him.

“I’ve watched you grow into the man you are,” he says. “I saw you claw your way out of every dark place life threw you into. I saw you fight for yourself. And not once did you ever let yourself stop caring about the people around you.” His voice cracks. “And I…I treated you like an outsider.”

I clench my jaw, my nostrils flaring from the flood of emotions.

“I looked at you like you weren’t already part of my family. I kept you outside that door,” he says, “when you’ve been standing on the goddamn porch for years just waiting for me to let you in. And I’m sorry for that. I have more respect for the man you’ve become and that kid who overcame every obstacle than you'll ever know.”

His words are tearing me apart. I don’t know what to say. I want to say something, but my throat is too tight.

“You are family, Ares.” His hand grips my shoulder. “I just didn’t say it enough. Or maybe I never really said it at all. And I’m going to fix that.”

He steps back and looks at me, eyes burning with what I’ve chased my entire life.

“Forgive me,” he says. “Give me a chance to show you what a real father is.”

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t budge.

I try to breathe around the fire building behind my eyes. I just nod, my jaw tight.

“You’re my son.” His hand hits my chest once, solid and certain. “You always have been.”

I don’t know when my arms move. But the second I wrap them around him, the second I pull him into me, I don’t feel like a grown man anymore. I feel like a boy. The boy who waited by a window for a mom who never came back. The boy who bounced from home to home with a fake smile and a suitcase that got heavier every year. The boy who wondered when someone would finally look at him like he belonged.

And now, I’m holding onto the one man who made me believe I could.

He’s smaller than me—shorter and older—not even close to my size, but right now, I feel like a child in his arms.

Brown holds me tight, hand fisting the back of my jersey like he can feel how much I need this.

And fuck, I do.

I bury my face against his shoulder, breathing hard, and then it spills out of me, quiet, raw, and trembling.

“I thought I let you down.”

He pulls back to look at me.

“I thought I’d ruined everything. That you’d never look at me the same again. That you’d stop wanting me around.”

“Ares…” His jaw clenches, and his eyes are red.

“I wanted to tell you,” I whisper. “We both did. I was gonna…after the game. We were trying to do it right, but when you saw us…” I shake my head. “I thought I let you down.”

“I let you down, not the other way around.” Brown’s hand lands on my shoulder, solid and grounding.

I stare at him, that ache in my throat thick and clawing.

“You could never let me down, Ares,” he says. “Never.”

“I’ll protect her,” I say. “I’ll be the best I can be for her. I’ll give her everything I have. I swear on my life.” I swallow, my jaw tight and voice shaking as I say, “You gave me everything. You gave me my entire life. Now, let me be everything your daughter deserves.”

Coach doesn’t speak at first, then he gives a soft, crooked smile.

“Nothing would make me prouder, son,” he says.

And then he pulls me in again, and I let him. And just like that, I break again.

But this time, it’s not because I’m falling apart. It’s because I’m finally being put back together.