18. Rory

Chapter eighteen

Rory

T he morning of the arena's grand opening dawned bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky. I stood at the kitchen window, coffee mug in hand, watching the sun rise over the harbor. Its golden rays reflected off the water, promising a perfect day for our celebration.

As I sipped my coffee, I thought about the whirlwind of events during the past few months. From Brooks' unexpected return to Whistleport to the roller coaster of emotions we experienced, it was like a lifetime had passed.

It was hard to believe he'd only been back in Whistleport since early spring. We were on the edge of making a dream come true that brought us—and the whole town—together.

I heard shuffling behind me and turned to see Mom walking into the kitchen, her cane tapping softly on the floor. Her hip still bothered her on bad days, but it didn't stop her from getting around.

Her eyes twinkled. "So, this is the big day, eh?"

I nodded, grinning like a fool. "It's the biggest."

She patted my arm as she passed on her way to the coffee pot. "I hope you feel proud, Rory. You and Brooks have accomplished something incredible in this little town. I must admit I was one of the skeptics when the arena's roof first caved in."

"Thanks, Mom. I just hope everything goes smoothly today. It feels like we're juggling a lot of balls at once."

She chuckled. "With the way this town has rallied around you two? I'd say you've got nothing to worry about. They'll rush to your side if anything even threatens to go wrong."

I watched as she poured herself a cup of coffee, her movements slower but still graceful. "You're coming to the opening, right?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Seeing those kids so excited will make it all worth it."

A comfortable silence fell between us as we sipped our coffee. "How are things going with you and Reid? Will he be there today?"

Mom smiled at the mention of Brooks' father. "Things are wonderful, dear. And yes, he'll be there. We're making it a little bit of a date. If we still have energy left over, we're thinking about going out to dinner."

I smiled, genuinely happy for her. "That's great, Mom. You two are good for each other."

She nodded, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I agree. It's nice having someone to share things with again. Someone who understands. He's funny and makes me laugh, too. That's always a bonus."

"I'm glad." I reached out to squeeze her hand. "You deserve to be happy."

"So do you," she replied, squeezing my hand back. "And you've found that in Brooks, right? The two of you look so handsome together."

The mention of his name made my gut feel ticklish inside. "Yeah, and I can't believe he's back. It hurt so bad when he left years ago. It's funny how things work out, isn't it?"

Mom laughed softly. "Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. A year ago, who would have thought our world would be like this—you and Brooks reunited, the arena about to reopen with all the old repairs taken care of, and me finding companionship with Reid?"

"It's been quite a year."

As if on cue, my phone buzzed with a text from Brooks:

Ready for our grand debut, partner?

I smiled and typed back a quick reply:

Indeed. See you soon.

An hour later, I stood outside the newly renovated arena, smiling at the gleaming fresh paint and solid roof. A large banner proclaiming "GRAND REOPENING" fluttered in the breeze. A small crowd had already gathered, chattering excitedly.

Brooks appeared by my side. I had to take a step back. He was striking in a navy blue suit tailored to his athletic build. "Quite a turnout already." He reached out for my hand and squeezed it.

I nodded, and a wave of emotion crashed over me. "I can't believe this is all happening, and we're really here… together."

"Believe it, Ror, we made it."

The crowd continued to swell as each minute passed. It grew so large that people had to gather across the street from the arena.

Dottie Perkins held court near a food truck, telling tales of the arena's glory days to anyone who would listen. Silas had a booth to help promote his new "Slapshot Blend" of coffee. He had created it specifically to celebrate the reopening.

I'd struck up a conversation with Ziggy and some of his teammates when we heard spontaneous applause and cheers. I turned to see what was going on, and my jaw dropped. Several familiar NHL faces climbed out of three SUVs and weaved their way through the crowd to the arena's entrance.

"Whoa, look at that, Coach Blake!" Ziggy rose on his tiptoes to see everything, his eyes wide as saucers. "Are those real NHL players? I mean, Brooks is, too, but these guys… are they really here?"

I nodded, too stunned to say much. "Looks like it."

"Brooks!" I called, waving him over to us. "Did you know about this?"

He shook his head, appearing as shocked as us. "No idea. Do you think Shaw put something together?"

Ziggy practically vibrated with excitement. "This is totally wicked! It's like, the All-Star game came to Whistleport or something!"

One by one, the NHL guests approached Brooks and me, offering congratulations and words of support. Ryan Shaw was the last, and he offered Brooks a hug.

"Quite an operation you've got here. I'm starting to understand why you couldn't leave it behind."

Brooks' face lit up, touched by the gesture. "Thanks, Ryan. Did you bring the other guys with you?"

"Let's just say a little bird might have been flying from city to city in the northeast over the past few days."

Ziggy, never one to miss an opportunity, sidled up to Ryan. "So, uh, Mr. Shaw, Sir... got any tips for a future NHL superstar?"

Ryan chuckled. "Well, my first tip: always be ready to learn. Seems like you've got a great teacher here in Brooks."

"Oh man, you have no idea!" Ziggy gushed. "Mr. Bennett's like a hockey encyclopedia with legs… and arms. And, you know, the rest of the body parts. He's got all of 'em."

I laughed, hearing Ziggy's unique description.

As more NHL players arrived, Ziggy's excitement reached new heights. He turned to me, his blue eyes sparkling. "Coach Blake, this is insane! It's like... it's like if Shakespeare showed up at our school play or something! I wonder what he would think of our Romeo and Juliet ."

"He'd be particularly impressed if they were on skates and wearing hockey jerseys."

Ziggy snickered. "That's not so bad, Coach Blake. I'll add you to my notebook. This whole day so far is epic, or maybe legendary. It's... it's..."

"Unprecedentedly awesome?" I suggested, doing my best to copy Ziggy's enthusiastic tone.

"Yes! That!" Ziggy pumped a fist in the air.

As the time for the official ribbon-cutting ceremony approached, I stood before the crowd, microphone in hand. Brooks was at my side, with our shoulders touching.

I'd offered to let him act as MC for the event, but he insisted it be me. He reminded me that nine months of the year, I stood in front of the classroom doing public speaking five days a week.

I approached the front doors while Mayor Flannigan held a giant pair of scissors. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand reopening of the Whistleport Ice Arena!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, and the shouting went on for at least five minutes. I had to wait for them to quiet down before continuing our program.

"This arena has always been the heart of our community, and thanks to your support and hard work, it will continue to be that for generations to come."

I glanced at Brooks. "None of this would have been possible without the dedication and vision of Brooks Bennett, our very own hometown hero. He chose to invest not only his money but also his heart in Whistleport. His homecoming has been a catalyst for so many amazing things, and we are all grateful for that."

Brooks whispered in my ear, and I grinned from ear to ear. "Brooks just told me he wants you all to stick around until after lunch. Or, he suggests coming back if you need to leave for the noon meal. Something extraordinary will happen here."

After the speeches and the ceremonial ribbon-cutting, we threw open the doors, inviting everyone inside to see the renovated arena. The oohs and aahs of the crowd were music to my ears as they gathered around the gleaming, pristine new ice, the updated facilities, and the wall of fame showcasing Whistleport's hockey history.

When I raised my arms, a hush fell over the crowd. Mayor Flannigan's voice boomed through the new speakers: "It's time for the ceremonial first skate on our new rink!"

Brooks squeezed my hand as we lined up at the rink entrance. The cool air wafting from the ice's surface sent a shiver of excitement up my spine.

"Ready for this?" Brooks whispered, his eyes twinkling.

Before I could answer, Ziggy appeared at our side. "Coach Blake! Mr. Bennett! This is so epic. I can't believe I get to be part of this."

The mayor spoke. "Before anyone skates on the ice, I want to present the Whistleport High team captain, Ziggy Knickerbocker, who will share a poem for the occasion.

I clapped him on the shoulder. "You're up next, Ziggy. It's time for your poem for the occasion."

He stepped up to the microphone and recited a Knickerbocker original.

"Whistleport's Heart of Ice" by Ziggy Knickerbocker

From frozen dreams to gleaming beams, Our arena stands renewed. Where legends skate and spirits soar, Our passion is imbued.

With blades that slice and pucks that fly, We'll write our story here. In Whistleport's heart of ice we'll find Our courage, love, and cheer.

The crowd cheered again, and we began to step onto the ice. I was struck by how perfect it looked—gleaming and unmarked, like a blank canvas waiting for the creation of new memories.

Mayor Flannigan's voice boomed through the speakers again: "Leading our first skate, we have Brooks Bennett and Rory Blake, the driving forces behind our arena's rebirth!"

We glided forward, hand in hand. I spotted our parents in the stands. They held hands and beamed with pride.

"Joining them," the mayor continued, "we have young Ziggy Knickerbocker, representing our youth league's bright future!"

Ziggy zoomed past us, unable to contain his excitement. He threw his arms up, eliciting both laughter and applause from the spectators.

"Last but certainly not least," Mayor Flannigan announced, "we have an exceptional guest. Please welcome 92-year-old Harold Winters, who played in the very first hockey game when the arena first opened!"

A collective "aww" rose from the crowd as Harold was helped onto the ice. Despite his age, he stood tall, his eyes bright with memories.

Brooks and I skated to him, each taking one of his arms.

"Ready for another lap, Mr. Winters?" Brooks asked warmly.

Harold nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across his weathered face. "Let's show these youngsters how it's done, boys."

Slowly but steadily, we began to skate. Ziggy fell in behind us, left speechless by the moment's significance.

As we glided around the rink, the crowd's cheers faded into the background. I was struck by the beautiful symmetry of it all—the oldest and youngest skaters, the past and future of Whistleport hockey, all coming together on this perfect sheet of ice.

We completed our lap, ending at center ice, where Mayor Flannigan waited with a microphone.

"Mr. Winters," he said, "would you do us the honor of christening our new ice?"

Harold nodded, his voice strong despite his years: "I hereby declare this ice open for business. May it see as many years of joy, triumph, and community as the old rink did. Let the games begin!"

At precisely 2 PM, Brooks stepped onto the ice, microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," his voice boomed through the speakers, "as a thank you for your incredible support, we've got a little treat for you. How about an exhibition game featuring some faces bound to be familiar to hockey fans?"

The crowd erupted in cheers as several NHL players, both current and retired, filed onto the ice. I recognized Ryan Shaw from the Islanders, Blaine Boudreau from the Bruins, and the legendary Zane Walker, recently retired.

Ziggy skated up to me. "Coach Blake, pinch me. I must be dreaming."

I understood what he meant. I was awestruck, too. "If it's your dream, I'm sharing it, Ziggy. This is beyond anything I expected."

The players divided into two teams, with Brooks acting as captain for one squad and Ryan Shaw for the other. Chief Callahan served as honorary referee.

The puck dropped, and suddenly, the game was on. Brooks won the face-off, deftly passing to Zane Walker, who streaked down the wing. Waker's speed was breathtaking for a man in retirement. He deked past a defender, but Boudreau's long reach poked the puck away at the last second.

"Did you see that, Coach?" Ziggy exclaimed, furiously scribbling notes. "Boudreau stole the puck!"

The action was fast-paced, with players showcasing their skills in a competitive and playful way. Ryan Shaw executed a beautiful spin-o-rama, leaving his defender flat-footed before dishing a no-look pass to his winger.

Not to be outdone, Brooks demonstrated he still had the skills of an NHL star. He intercepted a cross-ice pass, then embarked on an end-to-end rush that had the crowd on its feet. He weaved through defenders, his stickhandling a blur, before roofing the puck top shelf.

"Holy slapshots!" Ziggy yelled. "That was sick!"

The game continued, full of highlight-reel-worthy plays. Walker unleashed his famous slapshot, the puck a blur as it found the back of the net. Boudreau displayed his sniper skills, picking corners with surgical precision.

Midway through, Brooks surprised everyone by calling me onto the ice. "Come on, Ror," he grinned, "show these guys what Whistleport is made of!"

Amid cheers from the crowd, I joined the game. Brooks and I found our old chemistry instantly. On one play, I threaded a pass through traffic onto Brooks' tape. He one-timed it home, and we celebrated like we were teenagers again.

As the final seconds ticked down, the score was tied. Brooks won a face-off and shot the puck back to me. I saw an opening and fired the puck toward the net, where Brooks, battling in front with Walker, deflected it past the goalie just as the buzzer sounded.

The arena erupted. Our teammates mobbed us, and for a moment, it felt like we were celebrating a Stanley Cup win rather than a friendly exhibition.

As we all gathered at center ice, the players mingled with the local kids, sharing tips, stories, and autographs. Ryan Shaw skated over to Brooks and me.

"I get it now," he said, gesturing around the arena. "This... this is something special."

Brooks nodded, his arm around my shoulders. "It sure is. Thanks for being part of it."

Late in the afternoon, I finally had a moment to catch my breath. I leaned against the boards, watching as Brooks gave an impromptu skating demonstration to a group of wide-eyed kids.

Silas appeared at my side, two steaming cups in hand. "Quite a day," he said, offering me one.

I took it gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. "Thanks, Silas. For everything."

He nodded, his eyes on the ice where Brooks was now teaching a young girl how to do a hockey stop. "You know, I always had a feeling you two would find your way back to each other. And Brooks wouldn't be able to leave Whistleport forever."

I sipped my coffee, letting its warmth spread through me. "I'm just glad we did before it was too late."

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow through the arena's windows, I realized that the day had been more successful than I could have ever imagined. Not only had we reopened the arena, but we'd reignited Whistleport's community spirit.

Brooks skated over to where I stood, his cheeks flushed from exertion and joy. "So, Coach Blake," he said, his eyes twinkling, "what's next?"

I laughed, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "With you? I'm ready for anything."