It went something like this… Rykker met Hunter in their days of Learn to Play. The rink was cold, their gear was oversized, and they were both excited. After an hour of drills, Hunter skated right up to Rykker and declared, “We’re best friends now.” And from that moment, they were inseparable.

They spent season after season on the same house league team, rising through the ranks together. Both were stars in their own right—Rykker with his quick hands and fearless style, and Hunter with his powerful skating and sharp shooting. On the ice, they were unstoppable. Off the ice, they were even closer. Hunter’s loyalty to Rykker was something special—he always made sure Rykker was included in every joke, every game of knee hockey, every post-game celebration.

But things changed when they both tried out for the Jr. Steelheads. The tryouts didn’t go as planned for Rykker. He struggled, more than he ever had, and he knew it. The doubt settled in, and with each practice and game, Rykker’s confidence unraveled. He no longer felt like the player he used to be—the star he had once been.

Hunter was there through it all. He saw Rykker’s frustration, his growing self-doubt. Even when Rykker spent more time on the bench, feeling like the weakest link on the team, Hunter never treated him differently. He kept Rykker grounded, kept him laughing when the rink felt like a battlefield. Every tough game, every hard practice, Hunter was right there next to him, saying, “We’ll get through this, together.”

But there were moments when even Hunter’s friendship couldn’t drown out Rykker’s inner struggle. One night after a particularly rough game, Rykker hit his lowest point. “I’m the worst player on the team. I don’t belong here. I just want to quit. Sometimes…I don’t even want to be here at all.”

Hunter didn’t flinch. He wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and quietly said, “You do belong here. I’ve seen you at your best, and this isn’t the end of your story, Rykker. We’re in this together.” Again, something like this.

In that moment, Hunter’s words were more than just encouragement—they were a lifeline. Rykker might have felt like he was drowning, but Hunter was there, helping him keep his head above water.

As parents, we watched it all unfold. We questioned if we were pushing Rykker too hard. We saw his pain and wondered if we should pull him out, take him back to the safety of house hockey where he felt confident. But there was something in Hunter’s unwavering support that made us believe in the power of sticking with it, of learning to fight through adversity.

It wasn’t about being the star anymore. It was about growth, resilience, and the importance of having someone in your corner when everything else feels too hard. Rykker wasn’t alone in his struggle, because he had Hunter—a best friend who reminded him that, no matter what, he was worth fighting for.

In the end, the season wasn’t defined by Rykker’s goals or wins, but by the bond he and Hunter shared. A friendship born on the ice, one that carried Rykker through his darkest moments, and one that reminded all of us what it means to have someone who believes in you when you can’t believe in yourself.

Because in hockey—and in life—the real victories aren’t always measured by points on the scoreboard. Sometimes, they’re measured by the friends who stand beside you, no matter how many times you fall.