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“We can make this work,” I said to Liam. “We can talk to his coach this afternoon.”
“For sure.” He didn’t hesitate.
I returned my attention to Milo. “We’re happy to have you and we’re sure this can be a great experience for you. Can you tell me a bit about how you usually communicate during practices and games?”
Milo’s hands flew as he explained his usual setup—hearing aids during quieter off-ice moments, lip-reading, and a combination of hand signals and visual cues during play. “For on-ice coaching and other times where there’s a lot of talking, I use my phone for real-time captions. If a coach can have it in their pocket and hand it to me during discussions, I’ll be set.”
I nodded, already thinking about how we could adapt our coaching style to fully include Milo. “We can do that,” I signed. “We’ll make sure to face you when we’re speaking too, and you can teach us some of the signals you use. Is there anything else you need from us?”
Milo hesitated for a moment. “I just hope I can keep up. I’ve never been to a camp like this before.”
The vulnerability tugged at my heart. I was familiar with that kind of worry.
“I have no doubt you’ll be successful. Your coach wouldn’t send you here if he didn’t think you could excel.” I looked around and found Tommy heading for the ice. “Hey, Tommy!”
He looked my way and I waved him over.
“What’s up, Coach Ethan?”
“Tommy, this is Milo,” I spoke and signed. He nodded at Milo. “Milo’s joining us for the first time. He’s deaf and often uses hearing aids, but it’s too noisy in here to have them on. He also reads lips and sometimes uses his phone for captions. Can you please show him where the locker rooms are and make sure he gets settled?”
“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” Milo said and signed to Tommy.
“You too, man.” Tommy faced Milo as he spoke. “Come on, I’ll show you so you can get changed and then you can come warm up with us.”
“Cool.” Milo turned back to me. “Thanks, Coach Ethan.”
Tommy and Milo sped across the lobby to the locker rooms. Once they disappeared from view, a man in his early forties approached the registration table, his expression warm and grateful.
“Hi there, I’m Adam Joss, Milo’s father.” He extended his hand to each of us in turn. “Thank you so much for making this smooth for him. He insisted on doing check-in on his own, but I wanted to introduce myself.”
“We’re happy to have him.” I smiled. “And I think Dix is going to be thrilled to have someone who's such a big fan too.”
“He’s always breaking down his plays. There was no way we could say no to him coming here.” Adam leaned slightly on the table. “I noticed there’s a billeting program, but it’s closed for this session. Is there any chance there might be something available? He’s done summer camps the past two years with billet families, and it’s always been good. If not, we’ll make the drive each day, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
Liam glanced at me before addressing Adam. “We might be able to work something out, but we’d need a day or so to see what’s possible.”
“That would be fantastic.” Adam pulled out his business card and handed it to Liam. “Whatever you can do, we’d appreciate it. I’ll be back this afternoon to pick him up, but please call if you need anything.”
“Will do, Mr. Joss. Thanks for trusting us with him,” I said.
“Please, call me Adam.” He checked his watch. “I should get going. See you this afternoon!”
The lobby had emptied quickly as the top of the hour approached. Liam and I went into the rink and saw Dixon passing the puck with some of the campers. Milo was stretching with Tommy, Mimi, and a couple of others.
Despite the stress of the festival, sharing the ice with these kids and coaching them would help keep me grounded for the week.
SIX
ANDRE
The quiet peace of the library was a stark contrast to the chaos in my office. Stacks of papers, brochures, and sticky notes covered every available surface. My desk, usually neatly organized, looked like a rainbow tornado had hit it. I sighed as I surveyed the mess.
My gaze drifted to the schedule I’d reviewed with Ethan last night. The memory of our conversation sent a sharp pang through my chest. I’d spent half the night tossing and turning, my mind stubbornly replaying every moment in an endless loop. How had I allowed those awful words to escape my mouth?
What gnawed at me most was his accusation that I’d bullied him. I’d always prided myself on being the organized planner who brought students together for events they wanted. The thought that I might have caused anyone pain made my stomach churn.
Setting aside the guilt, I attempted to focus on the mountain of festival tasks before my shift at the circulation desk. As I opened my laptop, I steeled myself for the inevitable flood of emails. As I scrolled through my inbox, one subject line made my heart plummet—Urgent: Author Cancellation.
