Page 19 of The Love Comeback (Glaciers Hockey #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Ella

I wake up before my alarm, a habit I’ve developed after years of early mornings. The only sound is the gentle hum of the heater kicking on against the February chill. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rub my sleep-crusted eyes.

Another day, another dollar.

I stretch my arms above my head, pushing away the lingering exhaustion that seems to have taken permanent residence in my bones these days.

In the kitchen, I move on autopilot. I spread peanut butter over a slice of wheat bread, careful to keep it away from the crust—just how Colton likes it—and add a thin layer of strawberry jam to another slice.

The little note I write on his napkin has become our tradition: “You’ve got this! Love you tons. -E.”

I fold it carefully, tucking it beside the sandwich in his lunchbox.

I’m slicing the apple into perfect wedges when I hear the telltale creaking of Colton’s bedroom door. His footsteps shuffle down the hallway.

“Morning, bud,” I say as he appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas. “Sleep okay?”

He nods, stifling a yawn. “I had a dream that I scored the winning goal at a hockey tournament.”

“That sounds like a pretty amazing dream.” I place the apple slices in a small container, adding a dollop of peanut butter in the center. “Maybe it’s a sign of things to come.”

His face brightens at that, and he slides onto one of the kitchen stools, watching as I finish packing his lunch. “I’ve been practicing my crossovers every day, just like Kade showed me.”

My heart gives a little stutter at the mention of Kade. Lately, things between us have been … different . Not a bad different, just complicated.

Like we’re both tiptoeing around something neither of us is ready to name.

“I do them in my socks on the kitchen floor when you’re not looking,” Colton adds, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I laugh, picturing him sliding around in his socks. “So is that why the floors have looked so shiny lately?” I wink.

“My socks are a dust magnet.” He laughs.

“I might have to start using them on the blinds.” I ruffle his already messy hair. “Now go get ready while I finish up here.”

By the time Colton returns, dressed in jeans and his favorite hockey-themed t-shirt, I’ve managed to transform from zombie to functional human being. I’ve even thrown on a decent outfit—dark jeans and a burgundy sweater.

He crunches through his cereal while I double-check his backpack, making sure he has everything for the day—completed homework, his signed permission slip for the upcoming field trip, his notebook and pencils.

“Don’t forget I’m teaching robotics class after school today,” I remind him as we head out to the car, the morning air sharp with cold. “Valerie’s going to take you to your skating lessons with Kade, and I’ll be there to pick you up afterward.”

“I know, I know,” he says, sliding into the back seat. “You told me three times last night.”

“Just making sure.” I start the car, letting it warm up for a moment before backing out of the driveway. “I’ll pick you up from the rink at six.”

“Can we get pizza again?” he asks hopefully.

I bite my lip, mentally calculating what’s left in the food budget for the week. “Not tonight, bud. I’ve got chicken thawing for dinner.”

He nods, accepting this without complaint, which only makes me feel worse.

What kind of parent denies their kid pizza?

The kind who’s stretching every dollar to make sure he can play the sport he loves, I remind myself.

Thirty minutes after the final bell rings, the science lab is alive with the energy of middle schoolers, their voices bouncing off the linoleum floors and cinder block walls.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow over the chaos of circuitry, wires, and robot parts spread across the tables.

I put on my best teacher smile, despite the headache pulsing at my temples.

This extra stipend for coaching robotics will be worth every migraine if it means Colton can play hockey.

That thought alone keeps me going as I clap my hands for attention.

“Alright, Math Mechanics!” I call out, using the team name they voted on last week. “Let’s get focused. Regional competition is only eight weeks away, and we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

The students break into their assigned groups, voices overlapping as they debate technical specifications and design modifications. I move from table to table, offering guidance, asking questions to spark critical thinking, and occasionally jumping in to demonstrate a technique .

I glance at my watch—it’s 4:15. Colton should be at his skating lessons by now. I need to leave to pick him up from the rink in about an hour and a half. My neck tightens at the thought of all the logistics I’ve still got to manage today.

A crash from the table draws my attention, and I hurry over to find a disheartened eighth grader staring at robot parts scattered across the floor.

“The arm just fell off,” he explains, looking close to tears. “I don’t know what happened. I was adjusting the gears, and then…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, crouching down to help gather the pieces. “This is exactly why we test and refine. Every failure is just data for our next attempt.”

I pick up the main component of the arm mechanism, examining the connection point. “Look here—see how the mounting bracket is slightly warped? That’s probably why it couldn’t support the weight when you adjusted the gear tension.”

His expression shifts from despair to curiosity. “I think I have an idea for how to fix it!”

“Awesome! You’ve got this.” I smile encouragingly.

I took on this coaching position for the stipend, but watching these kids light up when they solve a problem reminds me why I became a teacher in the first place. There’s something magical about witnessing that moment when confusion transforms into understanding.

An hour and fifteen minutes comes and goes in a blink .

“Okay, everyone,” I call out, clapping my hands to get their attention. “Let’s start cleaning up. I want each team to document today’s progress and challenges in your journals. This will help us pick up right where we left off next practice.”

The students begin organizing their materials, some more efficiently than others. I move around the room, helping to sort parts into the correct bins, making sure nothing important gets misplaced or accidentally thrown away.

“Miss Smart?” A small voice draws my attention to a girl clutching her journal tightly to her chest. “I don’t think I’m doing a good job on this team. Everyone else knows so much more about robotics than me.”

I recognize the look in her eyes—self-doubt, the fear of not being good enough. It’s a feeling I know all too well.

“Lindsay,” I say, guiding her to a quieter corner of the room, “do you know what the most important quality in a scientist or engineer is?”

She shakes her head, eyes wide behind her glasses.

“It’s not knowing everything already,” I tell her, smiling gently. “It’s being curious enough to figure things out. I’ve watched you these past few practices. You ask great questions. You notice details others miss. Those skills are incredibly valuable.”

She nods, a small smile forming. “Thanks, Miss Smart.”

I check my watch again—5:40. Time to go. I quickly address the whole group. “Great work today, everyone! You’re dismissed. See you next week. ”

I pack up my things and make the short drive to the rink, arriving with two minutes to spare.

I lean against the railing, content to observe without announcing my presence just yet.

Kade hasn’t noticed me, his focus entirely on Colton as he demonstrates a hockey stop, spraying ice as he cuts his blades sideways.

His posture speaks of years of muscle memory—effortless grace that makes even the simplest movements look like art.

“Now you try,” I hear him instruct, his voice carrying across the ice. “Don’t be afraid to dig in. The ice can take it.”

After a few rocky attempts, Colton successfully cuts his skates sideways, actually managing to spray a small shower of ice, and comes to a much more definitive stop. His face breaks into a wide grin.

“That was awesome!” Kade exclaims, giving him a high-five. “See what happens when you trust your edges?”

Pride blooms in my chest as I watch. I can’t help but think of Brett and Katie—how proud they would be to see their son taking to the ice with such natural ability.

Brett would’ve loved teaching Colton these skills himself.

The thought arouses a familiar ache, but it’s tempered by gratitude that Colton has found his way to this sport anyway, that he’s found Kade to guide him.

Kade glances at his watch, then scans the rink.

His eyes land on me, and his serious coaching expression melts into a warm smile that shouldn’t affect me as much as it does.

He says something to Colton, who turns to look my way and waves enthusiastically.

I wave back, moving closer to the exit gate.

“Let’s cool down with one last lap,” Kade tells Colton, “and then we’ll call it a day.”

They circle the rink side by side. Kade is so naturally good with him, instinctively knowing when to push and when to encourage.

When they reach the gate, Colton’s face is flushed with equal parts exertion and joy. “Did you see me stop?” he asks breathlessly. “I did it just like Kade showed me!”

“I saw.” I smile and reach out to tousle his sweaty hair as he removes his helmet. “You looked like a real hockey player out there.”