Chapter 57 First Faceoff of the Heart
Clara Kane was twenty-one the summer she realized her heart had started keeping a different kind of score.
She had just finished her junior year at the University of Wisconsin, where she played defense on the women’s hockey team—big, physical, smart with the puck, the kind of player coaches trusted to shut down top lines and teammates trusted to have their backs. Off the ice, she was still the same Clara: fiercely loyal to her family, quick with a laugh, protective of her niece Rowie and nephew Charlie, and quietly competitive about everything from board games to who could eat the most pancakes at family brunch.
Dating had never been high on her list.
There had been a few coffee meetups in freshman year, one teammate setup that turned into a good friendship, and a spring thing sophomore year with a guy from her kinesiology class that ended sweetly when they both admitted their schedules were too crazy. Nothing that lingered. Clara told herself she was fine with that. Hockey, family, friends—her plate was full, and her heart was content.
But hearts, like breakout passes, sometimes arrive when you’re not looking.
It started at a summer prospect camp in Minnesota.
Clara had come home to help coach—her usual gig between semesters. The camp drew top high-school girls from across the Midwest, and this year included a special goalie session led by a guest instructor: Alex Rivera, twenty-three, former standout at Minnesota State, now playing in the men’s second-tier pro league while finishing his degree online.
Alex was quiet, dark-haired, with the kind of calm focus goalies need. He ran drills with patience, corrected form without ego, and had a dry sense of humor that made the youngest kids giggle when he pretended to be “terrified” of their shots.
Clara noticed him first because he was good with the girls—never talked down, always encouraged. She noticed him second because when their eyes met across the ice during a water break, he smiled in a way that made her stomach do a little flip she hadn’t felt since high school.
They didn’t talk much that first day.
But the camp was a week long.
Day two: Alex asked her opinion on a goalie’s stance during a drill. She offered a small adjustment; he tried it, nodded thanks.
Day three: They ended up on the same bench during lunch break, sharing sandwiches while the kids ran wild. Conversation started with hockey—favorite goalies, worst injuries—but drifted to life: his small-town upbringing in New Mexico (yes, they play hockey there), her big, loud Minnesota family.
Day four: He joined the coaches’ pickup game after the kids left, and Clara checked him playfully into the boards. He laughed, checked her back gently, and when they came off the ice he said, “You play mean. I like it.”
Day five: Coffee after camp “to talk drills.” Coffee turned into dinner at a quiet Italian place in town. Dinner turned into a walk around the lake, talking until the stars came out.
He asked about her family; she told him about Lily’s pro career, Everett’s rise, the way her parents still held hands at every game.
She asked about his; he talked about his mom teaching him to skate on a frozen pond in the desert, his dad driving hours for tournaments.
When he walked her to her car, he didn’t kiss her—just brushed a curl from her face and said, “I’d like to see you again. If you’re around after camp.”
Clara’s heart raced. “I’m around.”
They texted all summer.
He sent photos from his pro training camp: sweaty goalie gear, sunrise runs. She sent videos of her coaching her little cousins, backyard barbecues with the family.
When her senior season started, he watched every streamed game, texting after each one—win or lose—with the same steady encouragement.
She flew to one of his games in November, sat in the stands incognito in a hoodie, heart pounding when he made a sprawling pad save in overtime. After, he found her in the lobby, pulled her into a hug that lifted her off the ground, and kissed her for the first time—soft, breathless, tasting of victory and nerves.
They didn’t rush.
Long-distance was hard—her in Madison, him bouncing between pro cities—but they made it work: late-night calls after games, surprise visits when schedules aligned, quiet weekends where they cooked together and talked about everything from future dreams to favorite childhood memories.
He met the family at Christmas.
The Kane house was full: Lily, Nathan, and the kids from Boston; Everett home from his pro season. Alex arrived with flowers for Holly and a bottle of wine for Rowan, nervous but steady.
He fit.
He helped Rowan with the outdoor lights, let little Rowie “interview” him about being a goalie, lost at cards to Everett with good humor, and listened to Clara’s stories about her season with genuine interest.
Holly pulled Clara aside after dinner. “He’s lovely.”
Rowan gave Alex the quiet nod of approval over eggnog.
That night, after the house slept, Clara and Alex sat on the porch swing under blankets.
“I love you,” he said simply, voice soft in the cold air.
Clara’s eyes filled. “I love you too.”
They kissed slow and sweet, snow falling around them like confetti.
Senior year brought new layers.
Clara captained Wisconsin to another championship appearance, earned All-American honors, and declared for the pro draft. Alex’s pro season was strong—he earned a full-time spot in the top men’s developmental league.
They navigated it together: her games, his games, the draft where she went third overall to the Minnesota expansion team (close to home, perfect).
They moved in together that summer—a small apartment near St. Paul, half her hockey gear, half his goalie pads, photos of family on every wall.
Their life settled into gentle rhythm: quiet mornings with coffee, games where they cheered for each other from opposite benches when schedules overlapped, long talks about dreams and fears and the future.
They didn’t rush marriage—content with the love they’d built, day by day, shift by shift.
In Evergreen Hollow, under skies that had watched four generations of Kanes fall in love with the ice and with each other, Clara and Alex built their life—steady, strong, and full of the kind of love that started with childhood glances across a rink and grew, slowly and surely, into something unbreakable.