Page 14 of Pucking Amazing

Hoping the music and the dancing will melt away the thoughts of Sydney that still dance through my head.

If only it was that simple…

CHAPTER 5

SYDNEY

I lean back in my chair, the soft creak of leather now a comforting backdrop to the countless hours I’ve already put in. The first two weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities, with therapy sessions bleeding into team meetings and brief interludes of quiet that I snatch greedily whenever I can.

I’m rifling through my notes from Jason’s latest session, pleased that we’ve been making progress, but my focus fractures as my thoughts are drawn yet again to the issue of Tomas’s missed appointments.

If Tomas dodges one more meeting, I’ll have no choice but to get Coach involved. I hate the idea—it’s important that Tomas wants to get help rather than be forced—but I can’t just stand by.

I can’t help the man if he refuses to show up.

A cacophony from the hallway, sudden raised voices sharpened by frustration, breaks my concentration. Concerned by the disruption, I rise and inch toward the door, my skin prickling with tension.

Cracking the door open, my eyes widen as I’m met with a scene charged with anger.

DJ and Tyler are squared off, their faces red with the heat of their argument. DJ’s tattoos seem to dance on his arms as he gesticulates, while Tyler stands like a bull ready to charge. In the eye of the storm is Jason, hands raised in a futile attempt at peace.

“Your head isn’t even in the game anymore, Jason!” Tyler’s accusation slices through the air. “It’s obvious! You assholes had to go act out, and now we can’t win a game to save our lives!”

DJ frowns, stepping in front of Jason defensively. “Back off, Simmonds. We’re a team, remember?” DJ’s tone is acid laced with honey, sharp but impossible to dismiss.

The three move farther down the hallway and I ease my office door closed, my heart sinking. The headache that’s been lurking behind my eyes blooms fully now, a thorny ring tightening around my temples.

The accusation in Tyler’s eyes, the distrust in the team’s ability to pull together and break their losing streak…this is more than a spat; it’s a crack in the foundation of the team.

And it’s my job to be the glue.

Ten minutes later, the door swings open and a sheepish Jason steps into my office. His shoulders slump in a way that screams defeat, his usual easygoing charm nowhere to be seen.

“Could you hear us?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hard to miss,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest and leaning my elbows on the desk. “Wanna talk about it?”

He exhales, a heavy gust that seems to carry the weight of the entire team. “It’s like we’re split down the middle, and I have no idea how to stitch us back together. No one trusts each other anymore.”

“Maybe it would help to sit down and talk to everyone one-on-one,” I suggest. “Address what happened and how you’re committed to doing better in the future. Face the music, clear the air.”

Jason nods, the gears visibly turning in his head as we toss ideas back and forth like a puck in overtime. By the time he leaves, his stride has regained its confidence.

I sink back into my chair and allow myself a smile. It’s a small victory, but it’s a step toward mending the fractured spirit of the Blizzards.

If only my own tangled mess of a life could be sorted with a good pep talk.

Later that afternoon DJ swings by my office, a crooked grin lighting up his handsome face. His presence immediately fills the small room, sending a little thrill through me despite my best efforts at maintaining professional distance.

Over the past week, my office has turned into a revolving door of stressed-out hockey players seeking a moment of peace amidst the team’s chaos. Tensions are simmering and occasionally boiling over—fights keep erupting on and off the ice.

It’s no wonder that the players want a safe space to vent about the mounting pressure.

To my surprise (and secret pleasure), both DJ and Tyler have become regular visitors, often dropping in unannounced. Sometimes they want to dish about team drama, other times they simply seem to crave friendly conversation that has nothing to do with hockey.

Technically, they aren’t my official patients—I’m only formally treating the three players struggling with addiction. But I never have the heart to turn DJ and Tyler away when they appear at my door.

There’s just something magnetic about them, as different as they are.

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