Page 39 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)

LITTLE ROOKIES

FINN

S aturday morning in Tarrytown smells of burned coffee, sweat, and fruit snacks ground into the tile.

Parents stand around with lukewarm cups, sipping without thinking.

They call it self-care. I prefer espresso in a porcelain cup.

I want the caffeine, but also the few minutes it forces me to sit still and actually taste something.

Jessica always had one waiting when I came up for meetings. It wasn’t much, but it meant something. It made me believe I wasn’t chasing a chimera.

Now I’m thinking about her again. She’s a constant background noise in my head I can’t seem to turn off. She’s everywhere—in my coffee, in my playlist, in the goddamn shampoo aisle.

Maybe an hour with a dozen sugar-fueled ten-year-olds will drown her out.

I exhale the tight knot in my gut. This is the safe stuff. Little kids. Mini sticks. Juice boxes and the type of chaos I can handle.

Dmitri claps a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go, tovarish . The children demand their fearless leader. ”

I almost laugh. It catches somewhere just behind my teeth and stays there. I nod instead and head for the ice.

Jason tears across the rubber mats toward me, helmet crooked, yelling something about “power plays and Capri Suns.” Melissa jogs after him, effortlessly pulled together, though the fly-aways say she’s been chasing him since dawn.

“Sorry,” she pants, adjusting her ponytail. “Two muffins, half a Gatorade. He’s practically levitating.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll run the bounce out of him by the time we hit scrimmage.” I crouch to help him tighten his skates. “You ready to crush some drills, buddy?”

Jason nods like I’ve just offered him a contract. “I want to work on my wrister.”

“Let’s rip it.”

His sister Kaycee shows up next—tiny, sparkly, missing a front tooth. She tugs on my sleeve.

“Coach Finn, can I braid your bracelet?”

Without thinking, I offer my wrist. “Sure. Just don’t cut off my blood flow. I need at least one hand to run practice.”

“Deal.”

I glance down at her small fingers working the ends.

Her touch is light, warm, feathering against my wrist in little bursts that ripple under my skin.

The kind of touch only kids have—innocent, focused, all in.

It’s gentle. Soft, weightless, but somehow absolute.

It pulls me out of myself, silences the mind chatter.

For a breath or two, I’m fully present. No ache. No noise. Just the gift of now.

Then her voice flickers in—Jessica’s. That low, mischievous murmur. The smirk when she tied this on. Said she was marking me.

She’s still here. Cinched around my wrist. Around my soul. And I realize, this is what’s left. Not her laugh, not her touch, not the way she said my name. Just a piece of string and the memory of her fingers putting it on. Like she was claiming me. Like I was hers to keep.

And then it hits harder, full force.

The way she let me catch her. Let me be hers. The way she fought for my contract like it was personal. And the way she kept the pregnancy a secret.

I should take the bracelet off. But the thought shakes me. Feels like tearing off a part I still need.

Damn it. I can’t get free of her.

My throat tightens until I can barely breathe. This is what the rest of my life looks like—wanting someone who wants to live without me. Loving someone who chose fear over us. And now, I don’t know how this plays out. What co-parenting will become.

Civil. Polite. Careful not to say too much or stay too long.

Watching her grow round with my child while treating me like a stranger.

Sharing ultrasound photos through text. Discussing daycare options like a business transaction.

Twenty years of seeing her at school plays, graduations, maybe her wedding to someone else. Always connected, never together.

Because once there’s a child, the break is never clean. Not really.

I’m out. But the tether between us…that’s forever.

Somewhere behind me, Dmitri’s daughter Amneris squeals and flings herself at Kaycee. In six-year-old terms, a month apart might as well be forever. School split them into different zip codes. Dmitri said she begged to come today.

The reunion gets dramatic fast—tiny hugs, high-pitched laughter, a plan for matching Halloween costumes already locked in. Dmitri watches from the bench, arms folded, pretending he’s not a total softie about it.

Liam and Adam trail in next, coffees in hand, doing their best to look like they didn’t just come for the bagels.

They barely make it past the entrance before three of the moms at the boards start whispering and elbowing each other.

One gasps. The other giggles. The third one actually fans herself with a roster sheet.

The guys take up space in the bleachers, smug and decorative, reveling in the attention.

“Not even gonna fake helping?” I call out.

Liam shrugs. “We’re here for morale.”

Adam raises his coffee in salute. “You’re doing great, Coach.”

“Skates, now,” Dmitri barks, already striding toward the benches. “Let’s go. These kids are gonna lose it when they see the squad show up. It’s a special surprise. Get moving.”

Liam groans. “You said this was a drop-in.”

“Change of plans,” I say, smirking. “We’re running drills.”

The boys go wild when they spot the guys. Screaming, falling over themselves with excitement. I should feel something—joy, pride, connection. Instead, I feel hollow. Like I’m watching someone else’s life through glass.

Ten minutes later, the four of us are out there—me herding a chaos line of ten-year-olds through passing drills, Dmitri refereeing a mini scrimmage, Liam getting mobbed by center hopefuls, and Adam pretending he knows how to coach while two kids cling to his legs.

The boys are beaming. Screaming. Firing slapshots that would never clear the blue line but might break a tooth if we’re not careful.

Jason’s dragging behind the rest, his pass drifting wide before it even hits the stick.

He winces, shoulders curling in like he’s bracing for impact. I skate over, crouch beside him.

“Hey,” I say, tapping his stick with mine. “Messing up means you’re trying. And trying? That makes you the best one out here.”

His eyes flick up. “Really?”

I nod once. “Now show me what that wrister can do.”

He squares his stance, teeth clenched in determination, and fires off a shot that hits the cone dead on.

The grin he throws me could power the scoreboard.

Up in the stands, Melissa’s got her phone out.

So do half the other moms. Filming. Laughing.

Narrating in hushed, giddy tones while their kids skate circles around us.

One even mouths, “He’s so good with them,” to another.

Another mom—blond, wrapped in a Defenders hoodie—leans toward Melissa. “He’s a natural,” she says loudly. I hear it, but don’t react. Just keep skating, keep calling drills, keep my hands steady.

Out here, I look fine. Hell, I look great. But inside, I’m bleeding out.

For a few seconds at a time, I manage to forget. Just boys, blades, and the blur of joy. Then the hurt barrels back in, low and steady, lodged in my chest with no intention of leaving. No matter how fast I move, I can’t shake it.

Adam appears beside me, skating casually through the chaos.

“She was at dinner Sunday,” he says, low enough that the kids can’t hear.

I glance his way. “Jessica?”

He nods. “Started normal. Cocktails, chess, the usual Sunday ritual. Then your name came up.”

My jaw flexes.

“Dad made some offhand comment about your image, something about your social media profile and whether you’re good for the brand.” He pauses. “Didn’t land well.”

I look at him, lift my eyebrows, waiting for more .

“She lit into him. Tore him to shreds. Said he didn’t know the full story, had no right. She went full scale takedown. You ever seen Jess go off?” He whistles through his teeth, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t argue back. You survive it.”

I stay quiet. Let the words sink in.

“She burned him down so hard, he didn’t even finish his whiskey.” He pauses. “Sophie said she’s never seen Jess that fierce. That protective.” He nudges the puck off his blade, watches it slide. “And that’s saying something.”

I don’t respond.

He glances over. “So what the hell’s going on with you two? Do you love her?”

I stare straight ahead. “Doesn’t matter,” I say flatly. “She didn’t want what I was offering.”

He exhales through his nose. “Yeah? Then why have I heard from three different people that you’ve been hovering around her office every day like a stray?”

I cut him a cold look.

He shrugs, not backing off. “What are you doing there every day, O’Reilly?

Jess doesn’t look fine. She shows up, but it’s robotic.

Sophie won’t leave her alone. They’re afraid she’ll.

..” He trails off, shakes his head. “She’s not eating.

Barely sleeping. Liam said she cried for three hours straight the other night.

Just...broke. And they don’t know how to put her back together. ”

“She made her choice,” I grit out.

“I came to pick up Liam this morning at his place. Did you know she’s staying there with Sophie since last week?

She’s falling apart, man.” I feel his gaze locked on me, but I refuse to look.

“I pressed Liam on the drive over. He wouldn’t say much, but it’s clear, they’re not leaving her alone.

Not for a second. I’d really like to know why. ”

Something in me lifts, quick and sudden. Not relief. Not quite hope. Just…a whisper that maybe we could still?—

Because if she’s falling apart, maybe she does care. Maybe she’s not fine without me. Maybe?—

But then what? She still chose to keep me out when it mattered most. Still chose to protect herself instead of us. And I can’t unknow that. Can’t unsee the way she looked at me when I held that bottle. Like I was the enemy.

I shut it down. Hard.

Don’t be an idiot. She made her choice. You already tried. Got torched for it.

“Then maybe you should ask her.” I push off, skating away before the burn in my chest boils over.

Dmitri’s watching from the far circle, glove tucked under one arm, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word. Just takes it in.

“Hey,” Adam calls after me, not loud enough to stop me. “That’s why I told you to stay away in the first place.”

I don’t turn around. Just mutter it low, the only thing I’ve got left. “Go to hell.”

Then I blow my whistle and skate faster, barking at the kids. “Drills, now. I want focus. Let’s go.”