17. Brooks

Chapter seventeen

Brooks

I sat on the back stoop, taking deep breaths and bracing myself for a tough phone call. The Islanders' front office number stared at me from my contacts list. The cry of a seagull above reminded me about where I was and where I wanted to stay.

Before I could think myself out of it, I initiated the call. The phone on the other end rang three times before a perky voice answered.

"You've reached the New York Islanders. How may I direct your call?"

"This is Brooks Bennett. I'd like to speak with Ryan Shaw, please."

"One moment, Mr. Bennett."

I stood and shifted my weight from one foot to the other while I waited. One of Mom's favorite roses bloomed nearby, and I leaned over to inhale the sweet scent. I accepted the blossom's presence as a sign of Mom's support of my decision.

"Brooks, my man!" Ryan's voice came through loud and clear. "I've been hoping to hear from you soon. Please tell me you're calling with great news for the team."

My mouth went dry. "Ryan, um, it's great to hear your voice."

"Likewise. So, when can we expect you in New York? I'll send an entourage to LaGuardia to meet you. The whole front office is buzzing about you coming on board.

The excitement in his voice didn't help me. I closed my eyes and curled my free hand into a fist. "Ryan, believe me when I say I fully appreciate the offer. It's a generous one, and if I were a different man in different circumstances…"

"But? I think I hear a 'but.'"

"I have to turn it down. I've found my place here in Whistleport. I'm building something I believe in and can't abandon it now."

Ryan's silence was deafening. When he finally responded, his voice was soft. "Are you sure about this? An opportunity like this is rare, very rare. It's a coaching dream, and I can't remember when the team was ready to offer what they have waiting for you."

I pulled open the kitchen door and stepped inside the house. Dad was watching some cooking show on the TV, and I heard words about searing steaks coming from the living room.

"It was my dream, Ryan, but sometimes life deals us other cards. I'm a different man now."

"Is this about the girl? The one you mentioned before?"

A chuckled. "Well, actually, it's about the guy. Rory is part of it, but there's more. I'm part of this town, and my neighbors are the best people in the world. The kids here need someone who believes in them."

Ryan sighed heavily. "I get it. Don't think I'm clueless about what you're telling me. Still, Brooks, think about the impact you could have here. New York City has millions of kids struggling to do better than their parents. You'd have so many resources at your disposal and the backup of a legendary NHL franchise."

He did know how to push, but I stuck by my guns. "I've thought long and hard, but I'm already making an impact here… on people I know and love. I see it every day on the street. This town gave me everything it had. Now, I want to give back."

He paused for longer as I poured myself a glass of iced tea. "You know, Bennett, I always knew you had heart. I just didn't understand how much."

Relief washed over me. I hadn't destroyed the bridge between us with my decision. "I didn't know how strong it was, either, until I came back here."

"Well, it would be a big, fat lie if I said I wasn't disappointed. One more chance, now. Are you sure? Once our call ends, the offer's off the table."

I breathed deeply and looked out the kitchen window toward the lighthouse. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"I can't fault a man for following his heart. Good luck, Brooks, and I hope Whistleport knows how lucky they are."

The call ended. As I set the phone down, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. I'd put an end to the unfinished business.

Unfortunately, I barely had time to enjoy the lifting of the burden before my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Sterling's name flashed on the screen.

"Damn," I muttered. I considered not answering it for a moment, but I knew he would only keep calling until he could speak with me. Agents were persistent that way.

"Sterling," I answered. "I suppose you've heard."

"Heard?" From the first word, I knew that he was angry. "Heard doesn't begin to describe this big fucking mess, Brooks. I've got the Islanders' GM breathing down my neck. He wants to know what in the hell happened. He's making threats about my other clients. So yeah, I've heard."

I groaned. "Sterling, listen—"

He cut me off. "No, I think it's high time that you started listening. Do you have any clue how hard I worked to get you this offer? I pulled every string I could short of unraveling a whole damn sweater. I called in favors from ten years back."

I let him rant. It was an easier call than speaking with Ryan. Sterling was loud, but he never could change my mind once I'd decided on something.

Finally, he paused for a breath. "Are you done?"

"Am I—what?"

"Sterling, honestly, I appreciate everything you've done for me through the years. There's no doubt about that, but this decision wasn't about money or prestige. I'm part of something meaningful here and can't leave it behind."

"Meaningful?" He scoffed, and I fought to stop myself from chuckling. "Brooks, you're talking about the NHL. It's the whole ball of wax. What could be more meaningful than a shot to become head coach of the Islanders eventually?"

I moved to the kitchen door and looked out. Margot was tending flowers next door. "I think my world is a little more meaningful—for me. There's more to life than hockey, Sterling."

"More than… what the hell? Now, I know you've lost your mind. We're talking about your career."

"I know, and I've got the go-ahead to build a youth hockey program that will change lives. It will help revitalize my town, my home. This is all about… love."

Silence reigned. For a moment, I thought Sterling had hung up. Then, I heard him breathing. I pictured him pacing around in his New York office, doing his best to process my words.

"Love?" I heard wonder in his voice, like when someone sees Niagara Falls for the first time. "You've got one hell of a backbone, Brooks."

"Why do you sound so shocked?"

"It's just… for all these years, I thought I had you figured out, and you weren't much different from the other players. You were an ambitious kid from a small town, blessed with talent and hungry to prove himself in the big show. Now, will you shoot a big hole in my picture by turning it all down for… a pipe dream and your high school sweetheart?"

Anger flashed inside me at his dismissive description of the most essential things in my life. "It's no pipe dream. The plans are solid. And Rory? He was my high school sweetheart, but now… he's everything."

Sterling was quiet again for a moment. "You really believe in this, don't you?"

"I do."

He sighed again. "Look, I personally think you're batshit crazy. Walking away from this offer goes against everything I know about this business."

"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe it's time you occasionally started thinking beyond 'the business.'"

He grunted. "Hmm. I never thought you'd say something like that, Bennett, but I must respect it. You've got some serious guts to walk away from a gold-plated sure thing for something you believe in."

The line went dead, and a smile started to tug at my lips. It was all worth it; men like Sterling would probably never understand.

***

The town hall was abuzz, with everyone waiting to hear what I had to say. I'd gotten Mayor Flannigan to call a special meeting to announce my youth hockey league plans.

It looked like half of Whistleport's population crammed themselves into the hall. I tugged at my collar, feeling hot despite the air conditioning working fine.

Mayor Flannigan pounded his gavel on the podium to begin the meeting. "Order, please. I think you all know the reason for tonight's special session. Brooks Bennett is here to present an urgent proposal to form a summer youth hockey league that will play in our refurbished arena. Mr. Bennett, the floor's yours."

I rubbed my damp palms against my jeans. Rory sat in the front row for moral support. I took a deep breath as I stepped up to the microphone.

"Thank you, Mayor Flannigan. My fellow residents, I'm here tonight to speak with you not as a former NHL player but as a son of Whistleport." My voice was steadier than I expected. "I'm proposing that we put together a summer youth hockey league. I contend that it will not only benefit our kids but also breathe new life into our community."

I laid out the basic plan and watched as many in the audience leaned forward, eager to hear more. The idea was slowly taking root in previously skeptical minds.

"The league won't be just about hockey. The goal will be giving our kids something to be proud of and somewhere to belong. I want to bring the town together around a positive program."

When I finished, everyone seemed to talk at once. Hands shot up, and Mayor Flannigan had to pound the gavel three times to regain order.

"One at a time!" He pointed to Mrs. Pendleton first.

"How much will this cost us? I'm stretched already and on a fixed income." Her silver hair gleamed under the room's fluorescent lights. "How much will this increase our taxes?"

I smiled. It was a question I expected, and I had the answer. "Nothing. I am personally funding this project out of my own pocket."

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

Dottie Perkins' voice cut through the chatter around her. "While I have no doubts we all appreciate your generosity, Brooks, what's in it for you? Surely, a man of your… caliber… can find better things to do than being a babysitter for a bunch of kids."

Her insinuation irritated me, but I knew she was likely trying to raise a ruckus she could talk about at the Curl Up and Dye. "Mrs. Perkins, what's in it for me is the satisfaction of giving back to the community that raised me. Our kids are our future, and if I can help them reach their goals, it's worth far more to me than the shining lights of the NHL."

"Well, I never," she muttered.

Silas stood next. "I'm all in for this. I want to sponsor a team." His voice rang loud and clear. "Where do I sign up?"

I grinned, grateful for the support. "If the plan is approved tonight, you can sign up as early as tomorrow."

Another familiar voice called out from the back. It was Ziggy Knickerbocker, the source of the original idea for the youth league. "Mr. Bennett, will there be opportunities for older kids to help coach and referee? You know, so we can get some experience."

"Definitely, in fact, we'll count on it. That's another benefit of the league. It will be a great way to develop leadership skills."

As the meeting wound down, Mayor Flannigan called for a vote. "All in favor of approving Mr. Bennett's summer youth hockey league, say aye."

The positive response was deafening. It was a unanimous show of support that left me speechless.

The mayor turned toward me. "Well, Mr. Bennett, it looks like you've got yourself a hockey league."

***

The two weeks before the arena's grand opening flew by. Rory and I worked together on all of the little issues that popped up, one after another.

"We need to order more chairs for the ceremony," he told me as he frowned at his clipboard. "How did we only plan for half of what we need?

I peered over his shoulder. "Oh, that's already taken care of. I noticed it and placed the call this morning."

He turned and planted a light kiss on my lips. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

A crash from the next room startled us. We rushed to find a stack of boxes toppled over, with hockey sticks spilling across the floor.

"Damn," I muttered.

Rory was already on his knees, gathering the sticks. "It's okay. We've got this. It's no big disaster."

Together, we restacked the boxes, our hands brushing as we worked.

Two days later, we arrived early in the morning with Chief Callahan and Mayor Flannigan in tow. "Are you ready for the final inspection?" Rory asked.

I nodded and reached for the door. "Born ready."

The moment we stepped inside, we knew something was wrong. The air smelled damp, and a steady drip-drip-drip echoed throughout the arena. We exchanged worried glances before rushing towards the sound.

"Oh no," Rory breathed as we rounded the corner to the main rink.

A large puddle had formed at center ice, fed by a steady stream of water from a crack in the ceiling. An ever-growing blemish marred the pristine surface.

The blood drained from my face, leaving me pale. "This can't be happening. Not now."

Rory was already on his phone, frantically dialing. "I'm calling Steve from the construction crew. Maybe he can—" After a moment, he lowered the phone, his expression grim. "They're swamped with another job. The earliest they can come is next week."

"Next week?" I nervously ran my fingers through my hair. "The reopening is in two days!"

We spent the next hour calling every contractor and handyperson in Whistleport, but it was the height of renovation season, and no one was available on such short notice.

Feeling defeated, we sat on the bleachers, staring at the slowly expanding puddle. "We'll have to postpone," I said, spitting out the bitter words.

Rory nodded, his shoulders slumping. "I'll start making calls." I explained the situation to Chief Callahan and the mayor, who offered their condolences.

Suddenly, the sound of the arena door opening interrupted our conversation. We turned to see Silas striding toward us, a toolbox in one hand.

"Heard you boys might need some help," he called out, his voice echoing in the empty arena.

Behind him came a stream of familiar faces: Ziggy Knickerbocker and his teammates, Dottie Perkins carrying a massive wicker picnic basket, and even my dad, moving slower but determined to keep up.

"What's all this?" I asked.

Silas set down his toolbox with a clank. "Word travels fast in Whistleport, remember? We figured you could use some extra hands."

Rory fidgeted. "But... do any of you know how to fix a roof?"

Ziggy grinned, pointing to an older man I recognized as his uncle. "Uncle Matt's a roofer. He's been doing that for longer than I've been alive."

Dottie spoke up, already unpacking her basket. "Someone's got to keep the troops fed."

I couldn't believe my eyes as I looked at the assembled group. They were my neighbors and friends, all coming together to help in a moment of need.

"I... I don't know what to say."

Dad clapped me on the shoulder. "Then don't say anything. Just help us get to work."

For the next several hours, the arena was a hive of activity. Matt directed repair operations on the roof while the rest of us formed a human chain, passing materials up and debris down. Dottie kept everyone fueled with sandwiches and her famous blueberry muffins.

As the sun began to set, Matt called down from the roof. "That should do it! Let's give it a test!"

We all held our breath as Rory turned on the sprinkler system. Not a single drop landed on the ice.

A cheer went up, echoing off the walls of the arena. Everyone huddled together in a massive group hug.

As the celebration died down and people began to leave, Rory stepped up to my side. "Looks like the reopening's back on."

I nodded, too choked up to speak. It was all one hell of a reminder of why I'd chosen to stay, to be a part of the strength and spirit of Whistleport.