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MidReal Story
The Reckless Series
Scenario:A boy who grew up having it hard being the black sheep of the family only made him tough more wiser wisdom intelligent brave charm hard-working to attain his goals as an adult
Create my version of this story
Ethan Scott
He is a former professional hockey player who now owns a bar in the Canadian Rockies. He is resilient,tough,and independent. Ethan grew up as the unwanted son of a wealthy family,facing rejection and hardship. He learned to be strong and selfsufficient,earning a spot on a hockey team and later becoming a professional player. After retiring,he opened a bar,where he helps people in need,embodying his philanthropic nature.
Ethan's Father
He is a wealthy individual who initially rejected Ethan as his own son. He is harsh,judgmental,and unapologetic. Ethan’s father denied paternity upon learning of Ethan's birth,labeling him as the product of a onenight stand. This cold reception fuels Ethan's determination to succeed without external support,shaping his personality and driving his ambitions. His father remains absent in Ethan’s life,but his rejection continues to influence it profoundly.
Ethan's Mother
She is a woman who had an affair with Ethan’s father and bore him as a result. She is strongwilled,compassionate,and protective. Despite being young at the time,she stood up to Ethan's father when he tried to dismiss responsibility for Ethan. Her selflessness in caring for Ethan showcases her nurturing nature and her ongoing commitment to his wellbeing through distant parenting,even when circumstances forced her to distance herself from him.
Being the black sheep of the family has made me tougher, wiser, more intelligent, braver, more charming and harder working.
It’s also made me more independent, less needy and less expectations.
I’ve learned not to expect anything from anyone and to only rely on myself.
That’s a good lesson in life and one I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I’d do exactly the same if I had my time again because being rejected and cast aside has only made me stronger and more determined to succeed on my own terms.
My father made it clear he didn’t want me when I was born and that all I was to my mother was a product of a one-night stand.
He never wanted to be a father to me or have any kind of relationship with me.
That rejection has driven me my entire life and been the driving force behind everything I’ve achieved.
It’s also made me not want children of my own.
I watch Tommy and Sarah playing in the backyard of my bar.
The sun is setting behind the mountain, casting a golden glow over the scene.
Their laughter echoes off the trees as they chase each other around the yard.
Five years ago, I never could have imagined that I would be adopting two orphaned siblings who wandered into my bar with their social worker.
But here we are.
Tommy is eight years old now, and Sarah is six.
They are both full of energy and curiosity, always eager to explore and learn new things.
Tommy kicks his soccer ball across the yard while Sarah chases after it, her blonde pigtails bouncing behind her.
Hudson comes out onto the patio with two cups of hot chocolate, and their eyes light up.
"Thanks, Hudson," Tommy says, taking a cup from him.
"Thank you," Sarah adds, her voice sweet and innocent.
Hudson ruffles her hair before going back inside.
I watch them drink their hot chocolate, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me.
This is what it means to be a father. I never thought I would be able to feel this way about anyone else, but here I am, completely devoted to these two kids.
They bring so much joy into my life, and I would do anything for them.
I hear a cry of pain and turn to see Sarah on the ground, clutching her knee.
I’m by her side in an instant, scooping her up into my arms.
"What happened?"
I ask her gently.
"I fell," she says, tears streaming down her face.
"It’s okay," I tell her, stroking her hair.
"You’re okay."
I carry her inside and set her down on the couch.
Tommy follows behind us, looking worried.
"Is she okay?"
"She’s fine," I tell him.
"Just a little scrape."
I get some ice from the kitchen and put it on her knee.
She winces but doesn’t cry anymore. "It’s okay," I tell her again.
"You’re safe now."
She nods, snuggling into my side.
I look over at Tommy, who is watching us with big brown eyes.
He looks so much like his mother that it hurts sometimes to look at him.
But he’s also his own person, with his own personality and quirks.
He’s a good kid, smart and kind and thoughtful.
I’m proud of him already, even though he’s still so young.
"You okay?"
I ask him softly.
I clean the scrape with antiseptic while Tommy hovers anxiously nearby, his hands twisting the hem of his hockey jersey.
Hudson comes back into the room with three steaming mugs on a tray.
He sets them down on the coffee table before ruffling Tommy’s hair and heading back to check on the evening’s prep.
Sarah’s sniffles have subsided, and she watches me with big eyes as I place a Band-Aid decorated with cartoon penguins over her knee.
I guide both kids to the worn leather couch, settling between them with the hot chocolate Hudson made.
Sarah curls into my side, carefully holding her mug with both hands.
Tommy hesitates by the armrest.
"Come here, buddy," I say softly, patting the space beside me.
He climbs up, and as we sit together, I realize that this is the family I was always meant to have.
I sit between Tommy and Sarah on our worn leather couch, the familiar scent of hot chocolate filling the air.
Sarah’s penguin Band-Aid peeks out from under her pajama pants as she leans against my shoulder, her breathing steady and content.
Tommy fidgets with his hockey jersey, still hesitant after two years to fully relax.
I wrap my arm around him, pulling him closer, and feel his tension slowly release.
The distant clink of glasses and Hudson’s laughter drift up from the bar below.
Looking at their faces in the soft evening light, I remember the day they first walked into my bar, lost and alone.
Tommy breaks the silence, his voice small and uncertain.
"Do you think Mom would be proud of us?"
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question, and reply, "She’d be so proud of both of you, more than you could ever know."
I pull both kids closer, feeling Sarah’s small frame relax against my side while Tommy’s shoulders remain stiff.
The hot chocolate mugs sit cooling on the coffee table as I reach for the photo album I’ve been keeping since they arrived.
Opening to the first empty page, I suggest we start documenting our family moments.
Sarah immediately perks up, pointing to her bandaged knee and declaring it should be the first entry.
Tommy hesitates, then quietly mentions he has some pictures from hockey practice.
I close the album and set it aside, noticing Sarah bouncing excitedly on the couch cushions.
She points at Tommy’s hockey jersey and blurts out, "We should all go skating!"
Tommy’s eyes light up, though he tries to hide it by staring into his cocoa mug.
His fingers fidget with the hem of his jersey before he quietly asks, "Would you skate with me?"
The question hits me hard; it’s the first time he’s directly asked me to join one of his activities.
I set down my mug and check my watch, knowing the rink stays open late on weekends.
"Let's go right now," I say, feeling a surge of warmth as their faces light up with joy.
I head to the mudroom to gather our winter gear, while Sarah bounces impatiently by the door.
Tommy is already wearing his jersey and methodically lacing up his hockey skates.
I help Sarah into her puffy pink coat and wrap a wool scarf around her neck, noticing how the fabric scratches against the penguin Band-Aid on her knee.
After zipping up my own jacket, I grab our family’s worn hockey bag containing spare skates and pucks.
Sarah tugs at my sleeve, urging us to hurry, while Tommy shoulders his stick with quiet determination.
As we step outside into the crisp night air, Sarah looks up at me with wide eyes.
"Do you think we'll see any shooting stars tonight?" she asks, her voice filled with wonder.
Tommy glances at the sky, then back at me, and adds softly, "Maybe Mom's watching us from one of them."
I lead them down the quiet street toward the rink, our skates slung over our shoulders.
Sarah skips ahead, her pink coat visible under the streetlights, while Tommy walks close beside me, clutching his hockey stick.
The night air is filled with their excited chatter about constellations and shooting stars.
When Sarah stops abruptly, pointing up at the sky, Tommy bumps into her from behind.
Instead of getting upset, they both laugh - a sound that echoes in the empty street.
Sarah turns to Tommy, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Do you think Mom ever skated with Dad like we're going to?" she asks innocently.
Tommy hesitates for a moment, then nods slowly. "Yeah, I think they did," he replies, his voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and hope.
I guide them down the snowy path, the streetlights casting long shadows ahead of us.
Sarah's question lingers in the air, and I can sense Tommy's grip on his hockey stick tightening.
His knuckles turn white against the tape-wrapped handle.
I place my hand on his shoulder, feeling him tremble slightly.
"Your mom loved skating," I tell them, remembering details from their social worker's file.
"She taught beginner classes at this very rink."
Sarah skips ahead, her pink coat a bright spot in the darkness, while Tommy's steps become more purposeful.
Tommy looks up at me, his eyes searching for something more.
"Did she ever teach you?" he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
I nod, smiling softly. "She taught me everything I know about skating."
Under the rink's bright lights, I kneel beside the wooden bench where Sarah and Tommy sit.
Sarah swings her legs impatiently, while I double-knot her white figure skates, careful to avoid the bandaged scrape on her knee.
Tommy methodically removes his shoes and grips his hockey skates, his hands shaking slightly.
When I reach to help him with the laces, he hesitates for a moment before letting me take them.
I pull the laces tight, using the crisscross pattern their mother once taught her own skating students.
Sarah hops up immediately, but Tommy remains seated, staring at his skates.
I remain kneeling beside him, watching as he struggles internally.
His fingers grip the edge of the wooden seat, knuckles white against his hockey jersey.
The sound of Sarah's skates scraping the ice echoes behind us as she makes small circles near the entrance.
When Tommy finally looks up at me, I see a glimmer of determination in his eyes - the same fierce look I once saw in myself when I first stepped onto the ice as a young player.
Without a word, he pushes himself up from the bench, adjusts his stick in his hands, and takes a deep breath.
I stay close behind him as he takes his first tentative steps onto the ice, the blade of his stick scraping against the surface.
Sarah glides past us, her pink coat a blur of motion as she shows off her growing confidence.
Tommy's legs wobble slightly, but he refuses my offered hand, gripping his stick tighter instead.
His jaw clenches with the same determination I used to feel before big games.
When Sarah completes another loop, she slows down and skates back to us, extending her hand to her brother.
"Come on, Tommy," she encourages, her voice light and teasing.
Tommy hesitates, glancing at me before taking her hand.
As they skate off together, he whispers, "I think I remember her teaching me this once."
I stand at center ice, watching as Tommy's hesitant strokes become smoother with each lap.
His death grip on the hockey stick slowly loosens as Sarah guides him, their hands linked.
When she lets go to demonstrate a turn, Tommy falters but catches himself.
His eyes meet mine, seeking approval.
I nod encouragingly.
He pushes off harder, matching Sarah's pace.
The sound starts low - a chuckle that builds into full laughter as he picks up speed.
Sarah joins in, their joy bouncing off the empty rink's walls.
I push off from the boards, my skates cutting clean lines in the fresh ice as I glide toward them.
Tommy notices me first, straightening his stance and trying to look more confident on his skates.
Sarah waves at me, nearly losing her balance.
"Race you to the other end!" I call out, deliberately keeping my pace slow.
Tommy's eyes light up with competitive spirit.
Sarah takes off without hesitation, her pink coat fluttering behind her.
Tommy hesitates for a split second before following, his hockey stick forgotten at the boards as he concentrates on catching up to his sister.
"Hey, Dad!" Tommy shouts over his shoulder, his voice filled with newfound excitement.
I catch up to them, laughing, "You two are getting fast; I might have to start training again just to keep up."
Sarah grins back at me, her eyes sparkling, "Maybe you should, but only if you promise not to go easy on us next time."
I match my pace to theirs as we circle the empty rink, our skates cutting clean lines in the fresh ice.
Sarah's pink coat flutters behind her as she practices her spins, her blonde pigtails bouncing with each turn.
Tommy finds his rhythm beside me, his hockey jersey brushing against my arm as he tries to keep up.
The rink lights cast long shadows behind us, stretching out like dark specters on the ice.
When Sarah stumbles slightly, Tommy reaches out to steady her before I can move.
They share a look of understanding, then speed up together, racing ahead of me.
"Hey, Dad," Tommy calls back, his voice carrying a hint of mischief, "did you ever think we'd be this good?"
I chuckle, catching up to them, "Honestly, I always knew you had it in you; it's just nice to finally see it."
Sarah glances over her shoulder, a playful grin on her face, "Well, maybe next time we'll teach you a thing or two!"
I glide to a stop at center ice, watching as Sarah and Tommy race each other around the rink.
Feeling playful, I push off again, my skates carving clean circles in the fresh ice.
I execute a perfect spin, my blades gliding smoothly across the rink.
Sarah gasps in delight, her pink coat flaring out around her as she slows to a stop and watches me with wide eyes.
Tommy's eyes follow my movements, his gaze fixed intently on every turn and spin.
"Want to learn?" I ask, slowing down and coming to a stop beside them.
I demonstrate a simpler version of the spin, keeping my movements slow and easy to follow.
Sarah doesn't hesitate; she immediately tries to copy me, her pink coat flaring out around her as she wobbles through her first turn.
Tommy hangs back, gripping the boards tightly as he watches me with interest.
His eyes follow my every move, taking in every detail of the spin.
"Tommy," I say gently, "you can do it; just trust yourself and let go of the boards."
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, determination flickering in his eyes as he releases his grip.
Sarah skates over to him, offering her hand with a reassuring smile, "Come on, we'll do it together."
I stand at center ice, watching as Tommy's hesitation melts away.
He takes Sarah's hand firmly, his hockey jersey rustling as they position themselves for the spin.
Sarah counts down from three, her pink coat flaring out around her as they begin to turn.
Their first attempt is wobbly; Tommy's skates scrape against the ice, and Sarah giggles, pulling them faster.
They stumble but catch each other, refusing to let go.
On their second try, they find their rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect sync as they spin across the ice.
Their laughter echoes through the empty rink, mingling with the sound of blades cutting through the fresh ice.
While helping Tommy perfect his spin, I notice movement in the dimly lit stands.
A man in a dark coat sits hunched over, his face obscured by shadows.
He leans forward, watching us intently as we practice.
Sarah waves at him, and I tense slightly, but he smiles and waves back, his expression friendly.
"Who's that?"
I ask quietly, nodding toward the stands.
Sarah glances up, her eyes shining with excitement.
"I don't know, but he looks nice."
The man stands up and begins to make his way down to the ice.
Tommy inches behind me, gripping the hem of my jacket tightly as the stranger approaches.
I can feel his tension radiating through the fabric of my coat.
The man stops at the edge of the rink, his smile widening as he looks at us.
"Hi there," he says, his voice friendly and warm.
"I'm James Chen from the Winter Festival Committee."
He extends a hand, and I shake it firmly, trying to ignore Tommy's grip on my jacket. "Nice to meet you," I reply, trying to sound friendly despite my growing unease.
James nods at Sarah and Tommy, who are watching him with wide eyes.
"You two are quite talented," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
"Natural skaters."
Tommy inches closer behind me, his grip on my jacket tightening as James continues to talk.
"We're looking for a family act for our ice show next month," James explains, pulling out a business card from his pocket and handing it to me.
"Would you be interested?"
Sarah's eyes light up, and she tugs on my sleeve excitedly, "Dad, that sounds amazing! Can we do it?"
Tommy peeks out from behind me, curiosity replacing his earlier apprehension, "Do you think we're good enough for something like that?"
I glance at James, then back at my kids, feeling a swell of pride as I nod, "I think we might just surprise everyone."
I lead my kids to a rink bench, and we all sit down, our skates scraping against the cold concrete.
Sarah bounces up and down in her pink coat, her eyes shining with excitement.
Tommy sits quietly beside me, his hockey stick still clutched tightly in his hand.
"So, what does this mean?"
I ask, turning to James with a smile.
He leans against the boards, his eyes fixed intently on us as he explains, "We're looking for a family act that can perform a routine together. It would be a great opportunity for you all to showcase your talents."
Sarah's face lights up even more, and she starts talking about costume ideas and choreography.
Tommy looks at me uncertainly, his grip on the hockey stick tightening slightly.
"It sounds like fun," I say, trying to reassure him.
"But it will require some commitment. We'll need to practice every day and learn some new moves."
Sarah immediately volunteers to teach Tommy the spins she knows, and he nods hesitantly.
"Can we practice as a family every night?"
Tommy asks quietly.
I smile at him, feeling a surge of love in my chest.
"Of course we can," I reply, ruffling his hair gently.
He stands up from the bench, his confidence renewed as he glides back onto the ice.
Sarah follows close behind him, her pink coat fluttering around her like a cloud. "Let's try it again," she says excitedly, taking his hand firmly in hers.
"One... two... three!"
They begin to turn together, their bodies moving in perfect sync as they spin across the ice.
I lean against the boards, watching them as James explains the details of the coaching offer.
He tells me about the experienced coach they've lined up, who has worked with Olympic skaters and has a reputation for bringing out the best in his students.
Sarah immediately bounces over to us, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Can the coach teach me jumps?"
She asks eagerly, tugging on my sleeve.
James smiles at her, "Of course he can," he replies.
"He'll work with all of you to create a routine that showcases your talents."
Tommy skates over to us, his hockey stick dragging on the ice behind him.
He stops a few feet away, his eyes fixed on James uncertainly.
"Will we still practice as a family every night?"
He asks quietly.
I pull him close to me, ruffling his hair gently.
"Of course we will," I reply, smiling down at him.
"Nothing will change that."
James nods in agreement, handing me his business card again.
"You can call me anytime," he says, his voice warm and friendly.
"We're excited to have you on board."
I tuck the card into my pocket, feeling a surge of excitement in my chest.
"Thank you," I reply, smiling at him.
"We're looking forward to it."
We get home from the rink and sit down at our kitchen table.
James's business card is propped up against the cookie jar, a reminder of what we've just committed to.
Sarah spreads out a stack of blank paper across the table, while Tommy carefully writes "Family Practice Schedule" at the top of one of the sheets in his best handwriting.
I grab a handful of markers from the cup on the counter and pass them around.
"Okay, let's start planning," I say, pulling out my phone to check our schedules.
Tommy and Sarah both nod eagerly, their eyes shining with excitement as they begin to color-code different practice times. "We'll need to fit it in around school and bar hours," I explain, tapping my finger on the table as I think.
"And we'll have to make sure we leave enough time for homework and dinner."
Sarah nods thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she starts drawing stick figures on the margins of our new schedule.
Tommy looks at me uncertainly, his grip on his marker tightening slightly as he asks quietly, "Will we have to practice every day?"
I smile at him reassuringly, ruffling his hair gently with my free hand.
"Not every day," I reply softly.
"But we will need to commit to at least three or four times a week."
He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed intently on me as he asks again, "Will we have to get up early?"
I laugh softly, shaking my head as I reply, "No way," I say firmly.
"I'm not getting up before noon if I can help it."
Tommy's face relaxes slightly at that, but then Sarah speaks up from across the table.
"What about morning practices?"
She suggests excitedly, her eyes shining with enthusiasm as she looks at us.
Tommy's eyes go wide with worry at that, and he starts shaking his head frantically. "No way," he says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares at Sarah defiantly.
"I'm not getting up early for anything."
I squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, trying to placate him as I say softly, "It's okay buddy," I reply gently.
"We can do afternoons or evenings. Whatever works best for everyone."
Sarah frowns at me, her brow furrowed in disappointment as she protests, "But we need to practice every day," she says firmly.
"Otherwise we'll never get it right."
I sigh heavily, rubbing my temples with one hand as I try to reason with her.
"We can't do every day," I explain patiently.
"We have school and bar hours and homework. We need some time to rest too."
Tommy nods vigorously at that, his eyes still fixed intently on me as he asks again, "Can we just practice in the evenings?"
I smile at him softly, ruffling his hair gently with my free hand.
"Of course we can," I reply reassuringly.
"We can do three evenings a week. That way we'll have some time for homework and rest too."
Sarah starts to protest again, but then she sees Tommy nodding eagerly beside me and she falls silent.
I grab a marker from the cup on the counter and start circling different times on our schedule.
"Let's see," I say thoughtfully, tapping my finger against the paper as I think.
"How about Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays? We can practice from 7-8 PM each night." Tommy nods enthusiastically at that, his face lighting up with excitement as he watches me circle our agreed times on the calendar.
Sarah looks like she's about to protest again, but then she sees Tommy's eager expression and she falls silent once more.
I smile at them both, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over me as I say softly, "There we go," I reply gently.
"Now we have a plan."
I pour cereal for the kids the next morning, watching as they chatter excitedly about their skating practice the night before.
Sarah pushes her bowl aside, pulling our schedule out of her backpack and spreading it across the table.
She taps her finger against Sunday mornings, her eyes shining with excitement as she says, "We should do extra practice on Sundays."
Tommy's shoulders tense at that, his eyes fixed intently on his breakfast as he shakes his head slowly.
Sarah frowns at him, her brow furrowed in confusion as she asks, "But why not? It's the only day we don't have school or bar hours. We could use it to get ahead."
Tommy doesn't respond, his grip on his spoon tightening as he stares at his cereal.
I recognize the look on his face - it's the same one I wore when my parents pushed me to train harder all those years ago.
Before I can say anything, Sarah speaks up again, her voice filled with conviction as she says firmly, "It'll help us win," she insists.
"We need every advantage we can get." Tommy's spoon clatters against his bowl, and then he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back from the table.
He walks silently to his room without looking back at either of us.
I stand outside his closed door, my knuckles hovering over the wood.
Through the door, I hear him shuffling around, probably sitting on his bed where he always retreats when he's upset.
I knock softly twice, calling his name.
No response.
"I know you don't want to do extra practice," I say, thinking of my own father pushing me too hard in hockey.
"But we have to try our best."
His bed creaks as he moves closer to the door.
"Can we talk about what happened at breakfast?" my voice is calm and steady.
He leans against the door, peering out through the crack where the door doesn't quite meet the frame.
His small fingers are visible on the edge of the door, and I can see his worried eyes in the dim light of the hallway.
"Sometimes I need a break," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"I get tired too."
I nod, remembering how exhausted I was as a child from endless hockey drills.
"I know. It's okay to rest."
I pause, collecting my thoughts before continuing.
"When I was a kid, my dad made me practice hockey every day. I hated it for a while. But then I realized how much fun it could be."
The door creaks open wider, and Tommy steps back slightly.
His shoulders relax a bit as he listens to me.
"So, what do you think about our original plan?" I ask gently.
"Three days a week?"
He nods, stepping forward to wrap his arms around me in a hug.
"I just don't want to let anyone down," he murmurs into my shoulder.
"You won't, Tommy," I assure him, holding him close.
"Doing your best is enough, and we'll make sure it's fun too."
I sit with Tommy on his bed, our family calendar spread out between us.
His hockey jersey hangs on the closet door, and we use a blue pen to mark down his practice days.
"Maybe we can work on your spins first," I suggest, glancing at him.
His eyes light up at that, and he points to Tuesday's slot in the calendar.
"Can we practice the spin you did at center ice?"
Sarah peeks her head in through the doorway, her pink coat draped over her arm.
"Can I come in?"
Tommy hesitates for a moment before nodding and waving her over.
Sarah sits down beside us, her eyes scanning the calendar.
"Tommy, I'm sorry if I pushed too hard," she says softly, her voice filled with sincerity.
Tommy shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips as he replies, "It's okay, I know you just want us to win."
I help Tommy and Sarah pack up the calendar and skating notes.
As we stand to leave, Tommy suddenly perks up.
His eyes light up as he glances out the bedroom window at our snow-covered backyard.
Still holding his hockey stick from earlier, he turns to us with a mischievous grin.
"We could play a family hockey game this weekend," he suggests, his voice filled with excitement.
Sarah shakes her head, her ponytail swishing behind her.
"I don't know how to play," she admits.
Tommy's grin widens.
"I can teach you the basics," he offers, already moving towards the door.
"Let's go outside!"
I watch as Tommy demonstrates a simple stick handling move right there in his bedroom.
His confidence grows with each passing moment as he explains the rules of the game to his sister.
The room fills with laughter as we head outside, ready to make new memories on the ice.
I help Tommy shape the snow into goal posts while Sarah bounces around in her pink coat, her ponytail swishing behind her.
The backyard is blanketed with fresh powder, and the snow crunches under our boots as we pack it tighter.
Tommy explains that the goal posts should be six feet apart, just like in professional hockey.
Sarah listens intently, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Are these regulation size?"
Sarah asks, looking at the goal posts we've made.
Tommy laughs.
"Of course not! But they'll do for a backyard game."
He picks up his stick and demonstrates how to score a goal between the posts.
I watch as he shows Sarah how to position the stick and swing it to hit the puck.
The puck glides smoothly across the snow, and as Sarah takes her first swing, laughter echoes through the crisp winter air.
I grab a couple of hockey sticks from the garage and hand one to Sarah.
Tommy shows her how to position herself with the stick, and she wobbles a bit in her pink coat, giggling as she tries to mimic his stance.
We split into teams - Sarah and me against Tommy.
The puck slides across the packed snow, and Tommy takes the first shot.
He goes easy on us, letting the puck slide slowly towards our goal.
Sarah squeals with delight as she blocks it, then passes it back to me.
I fake left, but Tommy reads my move perfectly and steals the puck from me.
As we play, Tommy teaches Sarah some basic defensive moves between shots.
The sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over our makeshift rink as laughter and the thrill of the game warm us against the evening chill.
I watch as Sarah lines up her shot, her pink coat a vibrant splash against the white snow.
Tommy guards our makeshift goal, his eyes fixed intently on the puck.
Sarah grips the stick tightly, her tongue poking out in concentration as she takes aim.
Tommy shifts his stance slightly, deliberately leaving an opening between the posts.
Sarah hesitates for a moment, then swings with all her might.
The puck slides across our packed snow, wobbling slightly before it slips between the posts.
Tommy dives dramatically, but it's too late.
The puck has already found its way into the goal.
Sarah's eyes widen in disbelief before she jumps up and down, screaming with joy.
I lift her into the air, spinning her around in celebration as Tommy joins us.
Together, we stomp and dance in the snow, creating messy circles in the pristine white blanket that covers our backyard.
Our laughter echoes into the night, sealing a memory that will warm us long after the snow melts.
"Alright, kids. One more game before we head in."
I gather my kids together for our final game of the night.
"Let's mix up the teams this time."
Tommy immediately pipes up, "I get Dad!"
But Sarah protests, "No, I want to score on Tommy again!"
I look at them both and smile.
"How about we play a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to decide?"
They both nod eagerly.
Tommy and Sarah stand facing each other, their hands clasped behind their backs.
"One, two, three," I count down.
They both throw out their choices.
Tommy has made a rock with his fist, but Sarah has her hand flat, indicating paper.
"Paper covers rock," I declare.
Sarah grins triumphantly and runs over to stand beside me.
Tommy shrugs and moves to the other side of our makeshift rink.
He adjusts his stance, looking more confident than ever.
The night air is filled with anticipation as we ready ourselves for one last exhilarating showdown.
I crouch down at center ice in our backyard rink, puck in hand, while Tommy and Sarah face off against each other.
Sarah bounces up and down in her pink coat, her hockey stick gripped tightly in her gloved hands.
Tommy stands ready across from her, wearing his favorite hockey jersey.
A slight smile plays at the corners of his lips as he watches her.
The flood lights cast long shadows across the snow, illuminating our little rink in the darkness of night.
"Okay, kids. This is called a face-off," I explain.
"When I drop the puck, you both try to get it."
Sarah nods seriously, mimicking Tommy's stance exactly.
Her tongue sticks out in concentration as she watches the puck.
I glance between them one last time to make sure they're set, then release the puck onto the snowy surface.
Tommy lunges forward, tapping the puck with precision and sending it sliding toward me.
"Nice try, Sarah," he teases, a playful glint in his eyes.
Sarah giggles, undeterred, and calls out, "Just wait, Tommy! I'm going to score again!"
I crouch down near our makeshift snow goal, watching as Sarah grips her stick tightly.
The pink of her coat stands out against the dark of the night.
I pass the puck to her, and it slides smoothly across our packed backyard ice.
Tommy spreads his stance wider, protecting his goal with practiced form.
But I notice a small opening on the left, just enough for a quick shot to slip through.
It's a teaching moment, one I've learned from years of playing myself.
Sarah's tongue sticks out in concentration as she adjusts her grip on the stick.
She glances at me quickly for reassurance before turning back to face her brother.
I watch her line up her shot, her eyes fixed on the gap I pointed out.
She shifts her weight slightly, adjusting her stance just like Tommy taught her earlier.
Tommy crouches in his goal, his eyes never leaving Sarah's stick.
But that tempting gap on his left side remains open, a challenge waiting to be taken.
Sarah's tongue sticks out in concentration as she winds up.
The stick scrapes against the snow-packed ice as she swings.
The puck slides forward with surprising speed, heading straight for the opening.
Tommy's eyes widen as he realizes she spotted his weakness.
The puck slips past him, nestling into the snow goal with a satisfying thud.
Sarah's eyes widen in disbelief as she stands there, her stick still in the air.
Then it slips from her grasp and falls into the snow.
Tommy skates over from his goal, a mix of shock and pride on his face.
Sarah breaks into a huge grin, her cheeks rosy from the cold.
She jumps into my arms, her pink coat dusted with snow.
"I did it! I did it!" she squeals, hugging me tightly.
Tommy joins us, his eyes shining with excitement.
He shows Sarah how she positioned the shot perfectly, slipping it past him.
We form a tight group hug in the middle of our backyard rink.
Our breath mingles in the cold night air as we celebrate her win.
I help Tommy position himself at center ice, the flood lights from the house casting a bright glow on the packed snow.
Sarah skates over to her goal, still giddy from her earlier success.
She bounces on her toes, mimicking the goalie stance Tommy showed her earlier.
Tommy grips his stick tightly, his hockey jersey a dark silhouette against the white of the snow.
The flood lights catch the edges of his blades as he shifts his weight.
I drop the puck onto the ice, and it slides smoothly between them.
Tommy hesitates for a moment, looking between the puck and his sister in goal.
I can almost see the internal battle in his eyes - the desire to show off his skills and the reluctance to overshadow Sarah's moment.
I watch him hover his stick above the puck, the decision hanging in the air.
Sarah bounces in her goal, still riding the high of her earlier score.
She's not giving him an inch, and I can see the determination in her eyes.
Finally, Tommy makes his move, swinging his stick with a practiced ease.
The puck slides across our uneven backyard ice, heading straight for the corner of our snow-built goal.
But just as it's about to reach its destination, it hits a frozen chunk of snow.
The puck changes direction suddenly, curving in a way that catches both Tommy and Sarah off guard.
Sarah's eyes widen in shock as she tries to adjust her stance.
But it's too late; the puck has already slipped past her outstretched stick.
It trickles into the goal, coming to rest against the snowbank we built as a barrier. Sarah stares at the puck in disbelief, her mouth hanging open.
Tommy's eyes are wide with surprise as he looks at me uncertainly.
I watch him hesitate, his lucky shot sinking in.
His hockey stick slowly lowers to his side as he gauges his sister's reaction.
He takes a few tentative steps forward, his shoulders tense with anticipation.
But then Sarah lets out a giggle, her eyes still fixed on the puck's weird path through the snow.
Tommy's face breaks into a wide grin as he realizes she's not upset.
He skates toward her with open arms, his blades cutting through the snow.
Sarah meets him halfway, nearly slipping in her pink coat.
They collide in a messy hug, their laughter echoing across our backyard rink.
"That was just luck," Tommy says, pulling away to look at his sister.
But Sarah cuts him off before he can continue.
"No way! Teach me that snow trick shot!"
Tommy chuckles, shaking his head.
"Honestly, I didn't even mean to do it," he admits, scratching the back of his neck.
Sarah's eyes light up with mischief. "Then let's figure it out together!"