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Dennis Ryan met me at a bar near the Garden that evening.

"When I saw your name on my phone, I thought somebody died." He grinned and slid a beer across the table. "What's going on, Holloway?"

"I need your help with something. My girlfriend's daughter plays hockey. She's six, she's talented, and her coach is a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"He's drilling patterns that are way above her level. She's got good instincts and he's overwriting them. Every time she starts to build something, his methods set her back."

Dennis nodded. "What's his name?"

"Lester Hale."

Dennis put his beer down. "Lester Hale is coaching six-year-olds?"

"You know him?"

"Everybody knows him. He doesn't have a great reputation. Couple of the guys in the organization have flagged his name before." He took a sip. "Actually, his name came up in a meeting last week. He's under investigation. Something connected to gambling. I don't have details, but the organization flagged it internally." He looked at me. "If your kid is on his team, get her off it."

Gambling. As if I needed another reason to hate the man.

"I know a few coaches who'd be happy to take her. There's a woman on the South Shore who runs a girls' program. Former college player, great with kids. I'll send you her info."

"That would help. Thank you." I turned my beer on the table. "She got cut from the tournament roster this week. She's been working toward it since September. She's gutted."

"You know what a six-year-old needs after a week like that?" He pulled out his phone. "I'm getting her tickets. Saturday's game. Good seats. The kind where she can see the ice up close."

"You're a good man, Dennis Ryan."

"Don't thank me yet. These aren't free." He leaned back. "Come see the guys. You've been dodging us for years."

"Yeah. I think it's about time."

He grinned and finished his beer.

CHAPTER 17

Good Game

JANINE

"Are you serious?" Hazel was standing on the couch with her socks sliding on the cushion, holding the tickets in both hands like they might disappear if she loosened her grip. "Are you serious?"

"Saturday night," Alex said. "Good seats."

She screamed. A full-body, glass-rattling, neighbors-are-going-to-call scream that turned into a leap off the couch and into Alex's arms. He caught her without flinching. She wrapped herself around his neck and squeezed until his face went red.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you⁠—"

"You're welcome, bug."

She pulled back enough to look at the tickets again, reading every word on them like they were written in a language she'd just discovered she could speak. Section, row, seat numbers. Her lips moved while she read.

"Mama." She held the tickets up to me. "We're going to a Bruins game."

I looked at Alex over her head. He was watching Hazel with an expression that made my throat ache. This was the same girl who'd been curled into my side a few hours ago, silent and gutted, convinced she wasn't good enough. Now she was bouncing on her toes, holding Bruins tickets, and the tournament didn't exist.

"That's exciting, bug," I said.