Chapter 33 Ice Dreams
November painted Evergreen Hollow in frost and anticipation. The backyard rink was flooded and ready, the town’s outdoor pond frozen solid, and every young skater in the area had one thing on their mind: the start of school hockey season.
For Everett Kane, now ten and in fifth grade, this year felt different. He had grown four inches over the summer, his voice had started to crack at the most embarrassing moments, and his wrist shot had developed a snap that made the coaches whistle in appreciation. The Evergreen Elementary travel team—the Little Bears—had named him assistant captain, a role he took as seriously as any NHL alternate.
Practices began in early November, twice a week after school and Saturday mornings at dawn. Rowan, still head coach for the older groups, handed the Little Bears reins to his assistant but showed up for every session anyway, leaning on the boards with a coffee in hand and quiet pride in his eyes.
Everett’s first game was a home matchup against rival Pine Ridge. The elementary rink was packed—parents bundled in blankets, younger siblings waving homemade signs, the air thick with the smell of hot chocolate from the concession stand.
Holly sat in her usual spot halfway up the bleachers, Clara on her lap in a tiny Bears jersey, Lily home for Thanksgiving break beside her with a phone camera ready. Rowan stood behind the bench, arms crossed, calling lines with calm authority.
The puck dropped, and Everett’s line was out first.
He won the opening faceoff clean, chipped the puck to his winger, and raced up ice. The play broke down in the neutral zone, but Everett backchecked hard, poking the puck away and starting a rush the other way. Thirty seconds later he buried a rebound top shelf, the goal light flashing red as the small crowd erupted.
Clara screamed “EVVY GOAL!” at the top of her lungs. Lily whooped and fist-pumped like she was back in her own college arena. Holly’s eyes filled with happy tears.
The Little Bears won 5-3, Everett finishing with two goals and an assist. After the handshake line he skated straight to the boards, tapped his stick against the glass in front of his family, and grinned so wide his mouthguard nearly fell out.
That night they celebrated with pizza and root beer floats. Everett recounted every shift in exhaustive detail while Clara “helped” by adding sound effects. Lily teased him about his “fancy celly” after the second goal, and Rowan listened with the quiet smile of a dad who recognized his own ten-year-old self on the ice.
As the season progressed, Everett’s team rolled. They went undefeated through the holiday break, earning a spot in the prestigious Winter Classic tournament over New Year’s—a three-day event with teams from four states.
The family turned it into a mini vacation, booking adjoining hotel rooms and packing the minivan with snacks, extra skate laces, and Clara’s favorite stuffed bear wearing a Little Bears sweater Lily had sewn for it.
The tournament was held in a big arena two hours north, the kind with real Zambonis and a jumbotron. Everett’s eyes went wide the first time he stepped onto the ice for warmups.
Game one was a nail-biter—tied 2-2 with two minutes left. Everett’s line got the call. He carried the puck over the blue line, dropped a pass to his defenseman rushing up, then crashed the net. The shot came hard; the goalie kicked out a rebound, and Everett buried it for the game-winner. The bench emptied in celebration, tiny bodies piling on him in a joyful heap.
They won the next two games handily and advanced to the championship against a tough team from Minneapolis.
The final was broadcast on local streaming, and half of Evergreen Hollow watched from home. The score stayed knotted at 1-1 through two periods. In the third, Everett drew a penalty with a clever spin move that left the defender grabbing air. On the power play, he set up in the slot, took a perfect pass, and rifled a one-timer past the goalie’s glove.
The Little Bears held on for a 2-1 victory.
When the final buzzer sounded, Everett skated straight to center ice and dropped to his knees the way he’d seen NHL players do on TV. His teammates mobbed him. Rowan stood behind the bench with tears in his eyes. Holly, Lily, and Clara rushed the glass, banging on it and cheering until their voices gave out.
The championship banner ceremony was pure magic. Everett, as assistant captain, helped raise it to the rafters while the arena played “Sweet Caroline” and parents waved phone flashlights.
Back in the locker room, the coach gathered the team in a circle.
“This banner isn’t because of one player,” he said. “It’s because you played like a family. Everett, you led by example every shift. Proud of you, kid.”
Everett’s grin could have powered the arena lights.
That night the hotel hallway smelled like pizza and little-kid victory. Clara fell asleep mid-celebration on Rowan’s shoulder. Lily carried her to bed while Everett recounted the game-winning goal for the tenth time to anyone who would listen.
Later, when the kids were finally asleep, Rowan and Holly stood on the hotel balcony watching snow fall softly over the parking lot.
Rowan’s arm was around her shoulders. “He’s got it,” he said quietly. “That thing you can’t teach.”
Holly nodded, eyes misty. “Your heart on the ice.”
They stood there a long time, just holding each other in the cold, listening to the distant hum of the Zamboni resurfacing the championship ice one last time.
Back home, life resumed its gentle rhythm.
Everett’s championship medal hung proudly in his bedroom next to Lily’s old state medal and Clara’s tiny participation ribbon from toddler skating class. The Little Bears banner joined the collection in the rink lobby, and Everett’s photo (hoisting the trophy with his gap-toothed grin) made the local paper.
Spring brought new adventures: Everett’s team tryouts for the higher-level spring league, Clara’s first “real” skating lessons without the walker, and Lily’s summer plans solidifying around her NCAA internship.
But through it all, the family stayed rooted in the small, perfect moments: backyard barbecues, movie nights with too much popcorn, quiet evenings on the porch swing watching fireflies.
One warm May night, after the kids were asleep, Rowan and Holly sat on the back steps sharing a bowl of ice cream.
Rowan fed her a spoonful, then kissed the corner of her mouth where a bit of chocolate lingered.
“From fake dates to championship banners,” he said softly.
Holly smiled, leaning into him. “Best journey ever.”
They sat in comfortable silence, hands linked, listening to the distant sound of kids laughing at the town rink (spring hockey already underway).
In Evergreen Hollow, under a sky full of stars and the gentle glow of lights that never quite went out, the Kane family kept building their story—one goal, one hug, one ordinary, perfect day at a time.