MELISSA’S POV
Coach stepped closer, his usually loud and booming voice unusually soft, like he was approaching something fragile. Xavier glanced at him, confusion flickering across his face, and then he shifted his gaze to me, searching for some kind of explanation.
“That’s our hockey coach,” I whispered, offering him a reassuring smile, though my chest felt tight.
At the mention of the word ‘coach,’ something changed in Xavier’s expression—just for a second. His brows furrowed slightly, as if trying to grasp onto a thread of memory dangling right in front of him, only to have it slip through his fingers. He blinked, and the moment was gone.
Coach cleared his throat, holding out a bouquet of white daisies. “Get well soon, champ,” he said warmly. “Can’t wait to see you back on the ice.”
