Finn McCredie

Seven years ago, I was supposed to get called up in Calgary, propose to the woman I loved, and build my life here.

Instead, I got traded to Tampa just as her grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

I couldn’t ask her to leave when every day with her family suddenly mattered.

So I let her go.

Now I’m thirty, back in Calgary, skating in my first home opener.

And she’s in the friends-and-family section.

My heart damn near stops. She’s still the most beautiful woman in the world. For one stupid second, I think she came for me.

Then one of my new teammates looks up at her and smiles.

She smiles back.

Oh, fuck no.

Those seats aren’t public.

She’s here because of him. I don’t know if he’s her boyfriend, her date, or something in between. I just know I’ve spent seven years regretting the woman I let go, and somehow this guy is standing in the middle of my second chance.

He skates past me. I catch the name on his jersey. Memorize it.

Then look back at her.

This season just got personal.