Chapter 29 Little Bears, Big Ice
March roared in like a lion cub: windy, snowy, and full of eight-year-old energy.
Everett Kane (eight and three-quarters, gap-toothed grin, red hair that refused to lie flat under a helmet, and the fiercest slap shot his peewee coach had ever seen on a kid that small) was headed to his first out-of-town tournament. The Evergreen Bears Squirt A team had qualified for the prestigious Frostbite Classic in Duluth, Minnesota: three days, five guaranteed games, a possible championship banner, and (most importantly to Everett) the chance to play on the same ice where his big sister had once won state as a high-schooler.
The entire Kane family turned the weekend into a caravan.
Rowan loaded the minivan with hockey bags, snack bins, and Clara’s portable crib. Holly packed coloring books, noise-canceling headphones for the arena, and three different kinds of emergency chocolate. Lily flew in from Denver on Thursday night specifically to be Everett’s “good-luck big sister,” still wearing her Pioneers hoodie and carrying a brand-new roll of stick tape in Everett’s favorite shade of neon green.
Friday morning they hit the road before dawn, Everett vibrating in his booster seat, Clara singing “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs, and Lily asleep against Holly’s shoulder in the middle row.
Rowan caught Holly’s eye in the rearview mirror and smiled the soft, private smile that still made her stomach flip after twenty years.
They checked into the hotel in Duluth by noon: two adjoining rooms, one for the adults and Clara, one for Lily and Everett (though everyone knew the kids would end up in one giant pile by midnight).
The first game was at 4:00 p.m. against a team from Thunder Bay.
Everett was quiet in the locker room (rare for him), sitting on the bench lacing his skates with intense concentration. Rowan crouched in front of him, adjusting the chin strap on his helmet.
“You nervous, bud?”
Everett nodded once, solemn.
“That’s good,” Rowan said. “Means you care. Just remember: skate hard, keep your stick on the ice, and have fun. The rest is gravy.”
Lily leaned over Rowan’s shoulder and bumped Everett’s shoulder pad with her own. “Also, if you score, I’ll buy you the biggest ice-cream sundae in Minnesota.”
Everett’s grin finally broke free.
The game was pure magic.
Everett’s line came out flying. On his third shift he picked up a loose puck at his own blue line, deked around two defenders like they were pylons, and roofed a backhand over the goalie’s shoulder. The small contingent of Evergreen parents lost their minds. Holly jumped so high she nearly took out the woman in front of her. Lily screamed loud enough to be heard over the glass. Clara (perched on Rowan’s hip) yelled “EVVY GOAL!” at the top of her lungs.
They won 5-2. Everett ended with two goals and an assist, and when he skated over to the bench for fist bumps, his eyes were shining brighter than the arena lights.
That night the hotel hallway smelled like pizza and little-kid sweat. Everett refused to take off his medal even to shower. Clara fell asleep mid-bite of crust. Lily carried her to the crib while Rowan and Holly tucked Everett in.
“Best day ever,” he mumbled, already half asleep, medal clutched to his chest.
Rowan kissed his forehead. “More tomorrow, Captain.”
When the door between the rooms clicked shut, Lily flopped onto the extra bed with a dramatic sigh. “I’m exhausted and I didn’t even play.”
Holly laughed, pulling her into a hug. “Welcome to hockey-parent life.”
Lily kissed her cheek. “Worth it.”
Later, after Lily had fallen asleep with the TV on and Clara was snoring softly in the crib, Rowan found Holly on the tiny hotel balcony watching snow swirl over the Lake Superior shoreline.
He slipped behind her, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder.
“Our boy just scored his first tournament goal,” he murmured.
Holly turned in his arms, eyes bright with unshed tears. “He looked exactly like you out there.”
Rowan’s answer was a kiss (slow, deep, tasting of pride and love and twenty years of shared miracles). They stumbled back inside, careful not to wake the kids, and made love on the too-small hotel bed with the quiet desperation of parents who rarely get hotel rooms anymore.
Rowan peeled her sweater over her head, mouth tracing every inch of skin he uncovered. Holly arched into him, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed down her body, lingering at her breasts, her stomach, the soft place just above her hipbone that still made her shiver. When his tongue finally found her center, she had to bite down on a pillow to stay quiet, pleasure rolling through her in long, silent waves.
She pulled him up before she came a second time, needing him inside her. Rowan slid home with a groan muffled against her neck. They moved together slowly (hips rolling, breath mingling, eyes locked) until release took them both at once, gentle and shattering. Afterward they stayed tangled, listening to the soft sound of their children breathing in the next room, hearts full to bursting.
Saturday brought two more wins and a spot in the championship game Sunday morning.
Everett played like a kid possessed (in the best way): gritty along the boards, fearless in front of the net, grinning every time his line hopped the boards. Between periods Lily taught Clara a new chant (“Let’s go Evvy, clap-clap-clapclapclap!”) that echoed through the entire arena.
The final was against the host Duluth team (bigger kids, home-ice advantage, and a goalie who looked twelve). The score stayed knotted at 1-1 until the last two minutes.
Everett’s line got the call for a late shift. He won a battle in the corner, chipped the puck to his linemate, crashed the net (and there it was): a perfect rebound that he buried five-hole with 1:17 left.
The bench emptied. Parents screamed. Clara’s chant turned into pure shrieking joy.
Final score: Evergreen Bears 2, Duluth 1.
When the team hoisted the championship banner, Everett stood in the middle, medal around his neck, Lily on one side, Rowan on the other, Holly and Clara waving from the glass. Someone snapped a photo that would end up framed in three different houses.
Back in Evergreen that night, the whole town turned out for a parade down Main Street (fire trucks, horns, little kids waving homemade signs). Everett rode on Rowan’s shoulders clutching the banner like it was made of gold.
Later, after the celebration died down and the kids were finally asleep (Clara clutching her new “big sister” medal Lily had given her, Everett snoring under a pile of new hockey stickers), Rowan and Holly stood in the kitchen washing the last of the championship cupcakes off their hands.
Rowan dried his hands, turned off the light, and backed Holly gently against the counter.
“You know what I love most about today?” he murmured, lips brushing hers.
“What?”
“Watching our boy skate with your heart and my hands.”
Holly’s laugh turned into a soft moan as Rowan lifted her onto the counter, pushed her yoga pants down just enough, and knelt between her thighs. The house was quiet, the kids exhausted, and Rowan took his time (slow licks, gentle suction, fingers curling just right) until Holly came silently against his mouth, fingers clenched in his hair.
He stood, slid into her still trembling, and they moved together in the dim glow of the night-light (slow, deep, perfect). When they came it was together, foreheads pressed, breathing each other in.
Afterward, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, watching the snow fall soft and steady outside, Holly traced the laugh lines around Rowan’s eyes.
“Little Bears, big ice,” she whispered.
Rowan kissed her temple. “And the best family in the stands.”
Somewhere upstairs, Everett dreamed of slap shots and championship banners, Clara dreamed of her big brother and sister, and across the miles Lily smiled in her sleep, knowing her little brother had just carved his own name on the same ice she once had.
In Evergreen Hollow, under a March moon and the gentle glow of rink lights that never quite went out, the Kane family added one more perfect memory to the long, beautiful string of them.