There were two versions of Declan Finnerty. The one who stood in my kitchen measuring every word before he gave it to me, and the one who stepped onto the ice and made caution look like somebody else’s problem.
I had seen him play hundreds of times. I had grown up in arenas, slept through bus rides, done homework in family lounges while Mason and Declan turned themselves into local legends one bruised season at a time.
None of that prepared me for watching him now.
Maybe because I knew too much about the restraint underneath it.
The arena was nearly full. Brynn sat beside me with a beer in one hand and no understanding of icing despite years of exposure.
“Why did they stop?” she yelled over the crowd.
“I’m not explaining it again.”
“You’re a terrible educator.”
“I’m off duty.”
On
