Chapter 65 Draft Day Dreams
Rowley Holly Harper—nicknamed Rowie, with her mother Lily’s red curls and her father Nathan’s calm blue eyes—was twenty-two the spring her name was called in the pro draft.
She had grown up on ice and water: summers rowing with Nathan on northern lakes, winters skating on the Evergreen Hollow backyard rink her grandpa flooded every year. Hockey was in her blood—Lily’s fierce competitiveness, Rowan’s leadership, Everett’s power, Clara’s defensive instincts all mixed into one determined forward who played with joy and grit.
Her college career at Denver had been storybook.
Freshman year: letter winner, solid minutes on the third line.
Sophomore: breakout season, thirty points, conference all-rookie team.
Junior: alternate captain, forty-eight points, national championship appearance.
Senior: full captain, fifty-six points, Hobey Baker finalist, leading the Pioneers to their first national title in decades with an overtime goal in the final that still lived on highlight reels.
Scouts had been watching since her junior year. Mock drafts had her top five, then top three. By April, most had her first or second overall.
The draft was in June, held in Nashville this year—a big stage, national broadcast, families in the stands.
Rowie flew in with the entire Kane-Harper clan: Lily and Nathan from Boston, Everett and Elise with Mia and Leo from Minnesota, Clara and Alex with Sofia and Mateo from St. Paul, Rowan and Holly from Evergreen Hollow.
They filled two rows in the arena, signs ready, nerves high.
Rowie sat at a table with other top prospects, dressed in a sharp suit with a subtle rowing-pin lapel her dad had given her for luck. She looked calm on the outside—years of big games had taught her that—but inside her heart raced.
The commissioner took the stage.
“With the first overall selection in the PWHL Draft… the Boston Fleet select… Rowie Harper, forward, University of Denver.”
The arena erupted.
Rowie’s eyes filled instantly. She stood, hugged the prospects beside her, and walked to the stage in a daze.
On stage, the commissioner handed her the crimson jersey—HARPER 22 across the back.
She held it up, tears streaming freely now, and looked straight to her family in the stands.
Lily was sobbing into Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan’s eyes shone with proud tears. Everett whooped loud enough to be heard over the crowd. Clara screamed and jumped with the twins. Rowan stood slowly, arms around Holly, both of them crying openly—the same way they had the night Lily was drafted.
Rowie tapped her heart twice—her mom’s old signal—and pointed to them.
The broadcast caught it all: the rookie’s tears, the family’s joy, the commentator saying, “And there’s the Kane legacy—three generations now in pro hockey.”
Interviews followed—questions about pressure, legacy, excitement.
Rowie’s voice shook only once: “My family taught me hockey is about love first. The wins are great, but coming home to them—that’s everything.”
Back in the family section, hugs lasted forever.
Holly held her granddaughter tight. “You’re going to be incredible.”
Rowan’s voice was rough. “Just like your mom. Just like all of you.”
Lily pulled her close. “First overall. I’m so proud I could burst.”
Nathan kissed her forehead. “You earned every bit of this.”
Everett ruffled her hair. “Little cousin’s a first pick. Not bad.”
Clara laughed through tears. “You made history tonight.”
The twins demanded autographs on their programs.
Summer brought training camp in Boston—Rowie moving into the same city as her parents, signing her first pro contract, buying her first apartment with a view of the Charles so Nathan could row nearby.
Her rookie season was strong: top-line minutes, chemistry with veterans, a twenty-game point streak that made headlines.
But the best moments were family ones.
Her first pro goal—backhand roof in overtime against Minnesota—she skated straight to the glass where her entire family sat, tapping her heart twice.
Christmas home in Evergreen Hollow: the backyard rink flooded again (Everett and Nathan taking over the tradition), all the cousins playing shinny under the lights.
Rowie organized the game, calling lines with the same quiet authority her mom had.
When little Leo scored on her and celebrated wildly, Rowie let him, then pulled him into a hug.
“Best goal ever,” she whispered.
That night by the fire, the family gathered—three generations strong.
Rowie looked at her grandparents. “I used to think the draft was the dream. But it’s not. This is.”
Holly’s tears fell. “You all are.”
Rowan’s voice broke. “From a mistletoe bet to this… we’re the luckiest.”
They hugged—long, tight, tears flowing freely.
Outside, snow fell soft and steady.
Inside, the Kane-Harper family held each other close, hearts full with the quiet certainty that love—like ice—could carry everything, generation after generation.
In Evergreen Hollow, under a sky full of stars and the glow of lights that had watched it all, Rowie Harper’s pro journey began—not as an end, but as the beautiful continuation of a legacy built on family, resilience, and the kind of love that started with a bet and grew into forever.
The ice was ready.
And the next Kane was skating strong.