Chapter 34 Chapter 34

Chapter 34 Chapter 34
THE NORTH STAR ACADEMY
It was a far cry from the granite fortress in the Alps. This building, a repurposed industrial warehouse near the West Loop, was filled with natural light, warm wood accents, and the constant, rhythmic thrum of life. There were no biometric sensors hidden in the walls. There were no soundproof observation rooms. There was just a state-of-the-art rink and a lounge area where parents actually sat and drank coffee instead of hovering like vultures.
I stood in the lobby, tugging at the collar of my polo shirt. It had the academy’s logo—a stylized compass needle—embroidered over the heart. I felt more at home in this shirt than I ever had in the Blackhawks' primary colors.
"You’re fidgeting, Reid," Iris said, appearing at my side.
She looked radiant. Her hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail, and she was wearing a sleek black tracksuit that showed off the fluid, effortless way she moved. The limp was gone, replaced by a slight, deliberate strength in her right leg that only someone who had watched her recover would notice.
"I’m not fidgeting. I’m strategizing," I countered, leaning down to kiss her temple. "We have forty kids signed up for the inaugural session. Half of them are here because of you, and the other half are here because they want to see if I can actually teach a power-skate without getting a penalty."
"You’ll be fine," she laughed, her hand sliding into mine. "Mila is already on the ice with the Level 1s. She’s a natural, Reid. She doesn't bark orders; she just shows them how to find their center."
Mila had moved to Chicago three months ago. After the trial, she had been the first to reach out. She was our head scout now, the one who made sure that the "Ghosts" had a place to land. She still walked with a bit of a hitch, but when she was on the ice, she was poetry.
"It’s a good start, Iris," I said, looking around the lobby at the families pouring in. "A really good start."
The morning session was a whirlwind of skates being laced, whistles blowing, and the beautiful, chaotic sound of blades carving into fresh ice. I spent three hours on the ice with the older boys, teaching them the "Reid Carter" method of puck protection—which mostly involved using your center of gravity to make yourself unmovable.
I was heading toward the bench to grab a towel when I saw a figure standing by the players' entrance. He wasn't a parent, and he wasn't a student. He was tall, wearing a custom-tailored charcoal suit and a Super Bowl-sized ring on his finger.
Marcus Larsen.
The General Manager of the Blackhawks hadn't spoken to me since I’d officially retired from the NHL to focus on the Academy. Our parting had been professional, but strained. He hadn't understood why a man in his prime would walk away from a multi-million dollar contract to teach kids in a warehouse.
"Marcus," I said, skating over to the boards. "Lost your way to the United Center?"
Marcus looked around the rink, his eyes tracking the kids as they moved through their drills. "Impressive facility, Reid. A bit different from the locker rooms I’m used to, but the energy is right."
"What are you doing here, Marcus? If you’re here to scout, these kids are a decade away from a draft."
Marcus leaned against the railing, his expression turning serious. "I’m not here to scout the kids, Reid. I’m here because the league’s Board of Governors just finished their review of the Volkov evidence you provided. They’re implementing a mandatory mental health and athlete-safety protocol across all affiliate programs."
"That’s a start," I said, wiping the sweat from my brow.
"It’s more than a start. They want a consultant, Reid. Someone who knows the 'Golden Boy' trap and the 'Ice Queen' pressure from the inside. They want the North Star Academy to be the official developmental partner for the Chicago youth programs. It’s a massive contract. It would put this place on the map permanently."
I looked over at Iris. She was at the far end of the rink, holding the hands of a six-year-old girl who was terrified of her first glide. Iris was smiling, her patience infinite, her focus entirely on the child's confidence.
"I’ll talk to my partner," I said, looking back at Marcus. "But we have a few conditions. No corporate branding on the ice. No performance-incentive quotas for the kids. We teach them how to play the game, not how to be a product."
Marcus nodded, a small smile of respect crossing his face. "I figured you’d say that. Send me the proposal by Friday."
He turned to leave, but stopped, looking back at me. "By the way, Reid... the jersey is still hanging in your stall. Just in case you ever get an itch for a Saturday night under the lights."
"I have everything I need right here, Marcus," I said.
As the sun began to set over the city, casting long, amber shadows across the ice, the last of the students filtered out. The Academy went quiet, the hum of the cooling system the only sound in the vast space.
Iris skated over to me, her face flushed and happy. "I heard Marcus was here. Is everything okay?"
"Better than okay," I said, pulling her into my arms in the center of the rink. I told her about the offer, about the league's new protocols, and the chance to change the system from the bottom up.
"We did it, Iris," I whispered, resting my forehead against hers. "We didn't just survive. We’re changing the game."
"We are," she agreed, her eyes shimmering.
She looked down at the ice, then back at me. "One more lap? Just for us?"
"Always."
We pushed off together, moving in a slow, perfect synchronization. No cameras. No contracts. No ghosts. Just the two of us, carving our own path through the ice, finally heading in the same direction.
The North Star wasn't just a name on a sign. It was the feeling of her hand in mine, the weight of the past finally lifted, and the infinite, white expanse of the future waiting for us to make our mark.