Page 126 of Home Ice

Over the last few years, he’s made waves in the juniors as being the goalie to beat. Seeing him work hard, commit to his team, and hone his skills as much as he can has been a journey I’m glad to have gone on with him. The best part is that he’s not even close to his prime.

All he needs is a team.

Then my son is going to be incredible.

The night wears on. The top ten are mostly the names I thought they would be. The teens are a mix. We hit the twenties, and my tension creeps higher. If Kasen is going to be picked anywhere, it’s here. Each name that’s called feels like it takes forever for the prospect to take the stage, for the video to play, to be presented with their jersey and hat.

Twenty-three.

Twenty-four.

Then New York call the name I’ve been hoping I wouldn’t hear.

“Otto Wittenberg.”

It’s like Kasen melts into his seat beside me.

There are still seven picks left, but goalies being picked in the first round is rare, let alone two of them.

I nudge him. “Hey. Night isn’t over yet.”

I pretend not to see the way he swallows hard. “Yeah. And then there’s tomorrow.”

“Which we always knew would probably be the case.”

He forces a smile, and it’s so hard to see him disappointed. Second round is still a great effort, and I have no doubt he’ll be picked up early. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to go down there, get that New York manager back on the phone, and blast him for picking Wittenberg over Kasen.

He’s obviously the better player.

And no, I don’t have to say that because I’m his dad.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-eight.

Kasen’s hand gets so sweaty he pulls it away from me. With every name called, the nerves and excitement leave him. Resignation kicks in, and that’s a good thing because tomorrow is good. It’s fine.

“Making the selection for Toronto is …”

I can’t concentrate as they introduce the next announcer. Kasen’s gaze drops to the floor, and he shifts like he wants to go already.

“We’ll grab some takeout on the way back to the hotel and do this all again tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Really drag it out painfully.”

I snort back my laugh as the guest announcer takes the mic.

“With the thirtieth overall pick in this year’s draft, Toronto welcomes, from Vermont⁠—”

My head whips toward the stage.

“Kasen Delany-Hawke.”

Holy shit. That was him.

It was him.