Zach

Zach

“Wilder!” Coach Noah calls out.

Both of Jackson’s kids start skating toward Noah, away from their goal.

“No.” Noah waves his hand. “Number thirty-three Wilder.”

I snicker.

Then I see Jackson a few yards down, face to the glass like I am, waving his hands for the younger of his sons to turn around.

Katelyn is sitting on the bench a few rows behind him, smothering a smile with her mitten.

My snicker turns into a laugh.

The indoor practice arena is large but empty, save for the players and their parents, so sound travels.

Jackson jerks his head in my direction. “Knock it off, Hunt.”

My daughter skids to a stop on the ice. “What?”

“Sorry.” Jackson gestures for her to keep going. “Talking to your dad.”

Her blond curls stick out around her helmet, reminding me so much of her mother. But then she jumps into her little seven-year-old sprint and knocks over one of her opponents, reminding me of me.

Coach Noah blows his whistle and skates into the fray, resetting the group of six- to eight-year-olds.

Izzy sighs as she steps up next to me, cup of hot cocoa in hand. “She’s gonna be trouble.”

I grin as I drape my arm over her shoulder. “It’s good for her to get it out of her system in summer league.”

“Get it out of her system, or learn bad behavior?” Izzy shakes her head and hands me her hot chocolate.

Before I take a sip, I lean down and press a quick kiss to her temple. “I love you, Sugar.”