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9. Sean

9

Sean

"Alright, Mavericks, let's show 'em what we're made of!" I shout, more pumped than a new pair of sneakers. The guys rally, a chorus of agreement echoing through the rink.

There I am, in the thick of it with the Milwaukee Mavericks, the crew that decided to roll the dice on me post-injury. We're on the ice, the chill familiar like an old friend, and I'm in my element—skates laced up, stick in hand, and the puck at my mercy.

The guys and I are running drills, the kind that separate the men from the boys, or in our case, the Mavericks from... well, everyone else. There's a rhythm to it, a dance we all know by heart, but today, it feels more like we're composing a symphony, each of us playing our part to perfection.

As we weave through the drills, I find myself leading the charge, slipping into the role of natural leader like it's a bespoke suit—tailored just for me.

"Jonesy, keep those passes crisp!" I call out, my voice carrying over the scrape of skates against ice.

Jonesy shoots me a grin. "Yes, ‘Coach’!" he replies, sarcasm thick, but his next pass is sharp, slicing through the air like it's on a mission.

We're a sight to see, the Mavericks, a band of misfits and dreamers, each with our own story, but on the ice, we're a single, formidable entity. There's Jett, the speed demon; Rodriguez, the wall in front of our net; and of course, me, Sean Ice, the comeback kid turned de facto captain.

As we wrap up the last of the drills, I pull up beside Rodriguez, clapping him on the back. "Nice saves out there, Rod. You're like a brick house today."

Rodriguez, always modest, just nods, a small smile cracking his stoic facade. "Just doing my job, Ice. Someone's gotta keep you showoffs in check."

The banter continues, light and easy, as we cool down, each of us feeling that mix of exhaustion and exhilaration unique to a practice well done. But it's not just about the physical workout; it's about the bond, the unspoken camaraderie that's been strengthened with every practice, every game.

Through the rink windows, I spot a 'Future Home of Davidson Entertainment' billboard. Another reminder of what's at stake back home.

As we head off the ice, the locker room awaits, a sanctuary of sorts where the smell of sweat and victory mingle in the air.

"Great work today, Mavericks. Let's keep this energy going. We've got a season to dominate," I say, the words not just a pep talk but a promise to myself and to the team.

Practice winds down, and just as I'm about to make my grand exit—shower-bound and feeling like a million bucks—Coach McDaniels flags me down. "Ice, my office, now." His tone's got that 'this isn't a suggestion' vibe to it.

As I follow him, I'm mentally cycling through the possible reasons for this impromptu meeting. Did I accidentally check someone into next week during drills? Nah, today was pretty low-key.

Stepping into the office, I'm met with what can only be described as an ambush. There, seated like they're about to judge the world's most intense baking show, are the two owners of the Mavericks, Harry Benson and Marla Knox. Harry's as sharp as ever, his eyes like laser beams in a suit, while Marla, ever the enigmatic presence, gives off that 'I've seen it all' air without saying a word.

The door clicks shut behind me, and I swear the temperature drops a few degrees. "Sean," Tom starts, his usual pep replaced with a seriousness that immediately sets off alarms. "We've got a bit of a situation."

Oh, great. My mind races to the recent tabloid circus. They've seen the article. The one that paints me as Milwaukee's answer to the Great Gatsby, minus the charm and tragic ending.

Harry leans forward, steepling his fingers like he's about to unveil the meaning of life. "You're a tremendous asset on the ice, Sean. Your skill, your leadership—it's exactly what this team needs."

"But," Marla chimes in, her voice smooth as silk but carrying an edge, "your off-ice... adventures are becoming a concern. We're a team, not a reality show. We can't have our reputation overshadowed by... antics."

There it is. The 'but' I've been dreading. I try to defend myself, a bit of my usual swagger seeping into my voice. "Look, I know it's been a bit rocky, but I'm turning it around. I've even got a PR person on it."

Tom gives me a look that's part disappointment, part dad-talking-to-his-teen. "Sean, we need more than just a PR cleanup. We need to see real change. It's about the team, the community. We can't have distractions."

The truth of their words hits harder than any check into the boards. Deep down, I know they're right. My exploits, my so-called 'antics,' they're not just tabloid fodder; they're potentially damaging to the Mavericks, to everything we're trying to build here.

"I get it," I concede, the fight going out of me. "I'll do better. For the team. For the community. It's not just about dodging headlines; it's about being someone you can all count on."

Harry and Marla exchange glances, their expressions softening just a bit. "We're glad to hear that, Sean," Marla says. "We believe in you. Not just as a player, but as a person. Let's make sure the next headlines are about our wins, not your nightlife."

As I leave the office, the weight of the conversation settles on my shoulders.

After the ambush—er, meeting—in the coach's office, I make my way to the locker room. It's deserted, the buzz of camaraderie replaced by a heavy silence that's almost tangible. Just me, my thoughts, and the ghosts of practice past.

Peeling off my practice jersey, I reach up to grab my bag and—ouch. There it is, that familiar twinge in my shoulder, a memento from the injury that's been my faithful companion ever since that fateful night of the robbery. I wince, a silent curse whispered to the empty room. This shoulder of mine, it's like a barometer for bad decisions—acting up whenever it damn well pleases.

Reluctantly, I fish out a couple of pain meds from my bag, tossing them back with the kind of practiced ease that comes from too many mornings after.

"Don't you start acting up now," I mutter to my shoulder, as if it might listen and decide to play nice for a change. A guy can dream, right?

The drive back to Ice Ranch is a quiet one, my thoughts a tangled mess of team responsibilities, personal reckonings, and that lingering ache in my shoulder serving as a reminder of it all. As the miles roll by, I can't help but wonder if I'm really cut out for this—changing, growing, becoming the man the Mavericks need, the father Luke deserves.

Pulling up to the ranch in the late morning sun, the sight that greets me shifts my worries to the back burner. There's Aubrey, the picture of modern motherhood, her laptop open but largely ignored in favor of the whirlwind that is Luke, our son, living his best life as a human tornado on the porch.

Despite everything—the pain, the doubts, the challenges—I can't help but crack a smile. Aubrey, with her endless patience and multitasking prowess, seems to be managing just fine, even with Luke turning her workspace into his personal playground.

"Looks like you've got your hands full," I call out, amusement coloring my tone as I approach.

Aubrey looks up, a mock glare quickly dissolving into a grin. "Oh, you know, just another day in paradise. Luke's decided he's too cool for naps and is on a mission to prove it."

Luke, catching sight of me, zooms over with an energy I can only envy, babbling about his latest adventure in toddler-speak.

"So, conquering the world one porch at a time, huh?" I tease, scooping Luke up into an impromptu airplane ride, his delighted squeals cutting through the air.

Aubrey shakes her head, her smile speaking volumes. "Something like that. But hey, if you're offering to take over as co-pilot for a bit, I won't say no."

Aubrey's smile is my green light, and her nod seals the deal. "Seriously? You'd let me?" I ask, half in disbelief, half thrilled at the prospect of quality time with Luke. I set the kid down and he runs over to a small red pail holding some of his toys.

"Yeah, just..." She hesitates for a split second, her gaze flickering to Luke, who's now fully engaged in a critical operation involving every toy he owns. "Let's not dive into the whole 'dad' thing just yet, okay?"

"Got it, mum's the word," I agree, a promise that feels weightier than the usual banter we toss back and forth.

With Luke momentarily distracted by his toy summit, I kneel down, meeting him at eye level. "Hey, buddy, how about we go on a little adventure?" His eyes light up, curiosity piqued, and any reservations I had about stepping into these new shoes start to melt away.

“Yeah!”

I decide to take him on a horseback ride, and it’s like something out of a storybook. I'm on old Dusty, a gentle giant who's been around the ranch longer than I've been figuring out life, and Luke's right there with me, perched in front of me like a little cowboy in training. His giggles, pure and infectious, fills the air as Dusty takes us on a leisurely stroll around the property. Luke's excitement is a tangible thing, wrapping around us both. “Cowboys!” he says.

"Yeah, partner, just like cowboys," I respond, and I swear, if my heart swells any larger with love and pride, it might just burst.

But the real magic happens when we visit the barn, where the newest additions to the Ice Ranch family—a handful of baby goats—demand our attention. Handing Luke a bottle, I guide his tiny hands to feed one of the little guys. His concentration is all-encompassing, a mix of determination and awe painting his features.

"Look! He's hungwy!" Luke's voice is a whisper, as if afraid to break the spell of the moment.

"Yep, you're doing great, buddy," I encourage, my voice equally hushed, my heart doing somersaults at the sight. Watching Luke, so gentle, so caring, it's a window into the soul of this little human I'm only just getting to know.

As Luke and I make our way back to the Airbnb, our adventure winding down, we're met with a surprise visit. Pulling up in a car that's seen better days is Jake, my youngest brother, with his daughter, Violet, in tow. Violet, at nine months old, is the spitting image of Jake, with the same stubborn chin and bright, curious eyes.

"Uncle Sean!" Jake greets me with a grin, juggling Violet and her diaper bag like a pro. "Look who's decided to grace us with his presence."

I can't help but light up at the sight of them. "Jake, Violet, you're just in time. Luke and I were just wrapping up cowboy training."

Jake's eyes flick to Luke, a hint of confusion there. "And who's this little cowboy?"

Caught off guard, I hesitate for a moment. The truth feels like a boulder on my tongue, too heavy to lift just yet. "Oh, Luke? He's the son of one of the guests staying at the Airbnb. Just doing a bit of babysitting, you know, earning my keep around here."

Jake raises an eyebrow but doesn't push it. He knows me well enough to know when I'm sidestepping. "Right, babysitting. Got it. And here I thought you were allergic to responsibility."

I chuckle, deflecting with ease. "Only to certain kinds, but who could resist spending time with this champ?" I ruffle Luke's hair, who's now eyeing Violet with the sort of intrigue only another kid can muster.

Turning my attention to Violet, I reach out to gently poke her belly, rewarded with a gurgle of giggles. "And how's my favorite niece?"

Jake smiles, a softness in his eyes that only Violet can bring out. "She's good. Growing too fast. Makes me wish I could slow down time."

The conversation flows effortlessly from there, a comfortable back-and-forth that only siblings can have. We talk about everything and nothing—Jake's latest college escapades, Violet's newest milestones, and my adventures on and off the ice.

As Luke plays with his toys, Jake turns back to me, a knowing look in his eye. "You're doing good, Sean. Maybe babysitting's more your speed than you thought."

Jake, for all the curveballs life's thrown at him, has embraced fatherhood with a grace I'm only just beginning to understand.

As Jake and I catch up, with Violet gurgling happily in his arms, I can't help but dive into the deep end. "So, bro, college, single dad life—how's that balancing act going?"

Jake shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips despite the bags under his eyes. "It's a circus, man. But Dad's been a huge help, and Annie next door is a godsend. Wouldn’t be able to do it without them.”

The mention of support systems and communal help shifts my thoughts to Marnie, Violet’s mother, a ghost in the narrative of Jake’s life as a father. “And Marnie? She ever... I don’t know, show up in the picture again?”

The smile fades from Jake’s face, replaced by a resigned sort of hardness. “Nope. It’s like she vanished off the face of the earth. No calls, no visits. Just radio silence.”

The weight of his words hangs between us, a testament to the struggles and uncertainties of single parenthood. It’s in this moment, the air filled with the unspoken, that I feel a pull—a need to share my own tangled web of parenthood and unexpected connections.

“Jake,” I start, the words catching slightly, taking a quick glance to make sure Luke is busy with his toys and not paying attention, "there's something I gotta tell you. Luke... he's my son."

The surprise on Jake's face is almost comical, Violet blissfully unaware as she plays with his shirt. "Your son? Since when do you... How?"

"Yeah, it's a bit of a story. Met his mom a while back. Didn't know about Luke until recently," I explain, my voice a mixture of pride and apprehension.

Jake processes this, then nods, a new understanding dawning between us. "Wow, man. That's... big. You okay with all this?"

I let out a half-hearted chuckle, still trying to wrap my head around the enormity of it all. "Getting there. It's a lot to take in, but I want to be a part of his life. Be there for him, you know?"

Jake's look softens, the shared experience of fatherhood bridging any gap our differing paths might have created. "I get it. And hey, if you ever need tips on diaper changing or dealing with tantrums, I'm your guy."

The laugh that escapes me feels lighter than it has in days, the bond of brotherhood and now fatherhood drawing us closer. "Thanks, dude. Might take you up on that. And who knows, maybe Luke and Violet can have playdates. Start their own little support group for kids with dads trying to figure it all out."

As Jake prepares to head inside, Violet snug in his arms, there's a sense of camaraderie that wasn't there before—a mutual understanding that, despite the unexpected turns our lives have taken, we're in this together.

"Yeah, that'd be something," Jake agrees, a grin spreading across his face. "The next generation of Ices, causing chaos and keeping us on our toes."

As they disappear inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I can't help but feel a flicker of hope. With Jake by my side, and a newfound determination to be the father Luke deserves, maybe, just maybe, I can navigate this uncharted territory. After all, if Jake can do it, why can't I?

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