I blow the whistle, and they come over to me. “How long have you been playing hockey?” I ask the five kids who are huffing, trying to get their breathing under control.

Everyone says since they were six except the kids with the hands. “Two years,” he says. I look at him and make a mental note to ask him more questions after.

The time flies, and by the time I look around, it’s five o’clock, and I get off the ice. Taking off all my stuff, I change into shorts and a shirt. I grab my phone and see that I have forty missed texts and shake my head, laughing as I read through them.

Matthew: Who you calling old? Max is older than I am.

Max: I’m like fine wine; I get better with age.

Matthew: I just threw up in my mouth.

Viktor: I’m in.

Evan: We should just have the family vacation there instead of up north.

Max: That sounds good to me. I’ll mention it to Allison.

Matthew: The sister you stole.

I laugh at the back and forth, and I’m about to answer when I see Dylan sitting on the step facing the front door.

“Hey there,” I say, putting my phone away. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m waiting for my mom,” he says, trying to blink away tears. I sit next to him.

“Mind if I wait with you?” I ask, and he just shrugs. “Do you want to call your mom?” I take out my phone when he nods.

I give him my phone, and he takes it and dials her number. She must answer right away.

“Mom,” he says softly, and she must be telling him something. “Okay,” he says. “I will.” He hands me back the phone. “She’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“That’s okay. It’ll fly by,” I say. “Are you hungry?” He just shakes his head. “How did you like the first day?”

“I really like it,” he says and then looks at me. “I like the ice the best,” he says, and I just nod at him.

“But in order to be faster on the ice, you need to do lots of stuff in the gym,” I say. “When I was your age, all I wanted to do was be on the ice, but my father forced me to go to the gym and made me use a jump rope.” I lean in to him. “I hated it,” I whisper, and he smiles and laughs.

“Did you do it?” he asks, and I nod.

“I had no choice. He wouldn’t let me on the ice unless I did it.” I see a car pulling up, and a woman climbs out of the back seat. She runs into the arena and looks around, the fear all on her face. You can see that she has been crying; her eyes and the tip of her nose are red.