Page 21 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

She's already planning out my whole life, and the crazy thing is…I'm letting her. Iwanther to. My interest in the mimosa is already gone, replaced with a renewed focus on what we’re doing here. Anxiety rolls through me, and I look out the window to hide my expression.

But looking out the window just reminds me that in a few moments, we’re going to be inch-worming up the side of the mountain, rising into the air, higher and higher…

So I look back to her, saying, “So, no alcohol. What else?”

I’ve been going along with all the testing, getting poked and prodded and evaluated in my free time. When Penny sent over waivers to sign, I saw several comprehensive documents outlining my shortcomings and how to improve them, but it was so convoluted that I decided it was better to wait until I met with Finn.

“We're keeping your trainer and nutritionist, as they've agreed to modify your plans according to our suggestions. My resilience trainer will be doing Zoom sessions with you once a week, and the endocrinologist is going to keep testing your hormones tomake sure they’re where we want them. Beyond the physical things—which are important, don’t get me wrong—are the most important elements.”

She pulls out a leather journal and sets it between us on the table. The train sits at a slight incline, so it slides a bit toward me. When I reach out, putting my hand on it, the leather is buttery smooth under my fingers. I eye the book, then raise an eyebrow at her.

“A...book?”

“A journal,” she corrects, launching into an explanation. “It’s important for processing, as well as tracking your progress. Of course, we’ll be using metrics to quantify the progress, but this is a more intuitive way for you to look back and see exactly what’s changing with you. How you approach your daily life, practice, games—it’s all going to shift. Not only will the journal help you see that change, but it’s also essential for working through your emotional blockages.”

“Emotional blockages,” I repeat flatly, meeting her eyes. She rolls hers in response.

I don’t have any emotional blockages. What I have is a lack of skill—some major deficit in ability that I don’t know how to make up for. Clearly, all the extra practice isn’t working.

“It sounds ridiculous. Hippy-dippy, sure,” Finn says, her eyes skipping down to her drink. “But it works. Think of Brett Ratcliff.”

“He doesn't journal, I can tell you that.”

I know for a fact Brett's idea of processing emotions is hitting people on the ice. Taking all that frustration and dropping his shoulder into it.

“Sure, but he had some emotional baggage, right? If I remember correctly, there was a brawl with his family. A quick marriage and baby situation? And before that, he had the whole broken legs thing. Then his performance was okay, then there was this moment thateverythingclicked into place. I’d be willing to bet anything that he broke through an emotional blockage to get to that point. Whether he acknowledged it or not.”

I chew on my lip, thinking about that. While it was happening, Brett was pretty hush-hush, but now that it’s over, he’s told me the whole story. Marrying a girl to help her get her inheritance so she could take care of her little sister, adopting that baby. All because he was in love with her. Maybe that helped him work through something with his family. Maybe it helped him grow up.

“Good morning, everyone!” The conductor's voice crackles through the speakers, way too cheerful for this early. “Welcome aboard the Mount Mansfield Scenic Railway. We'll be climbing to an elevation of 4,393 feet today, which will take approximately forty minutes. On our journey, you'll experience some of the most spectacular views in New England—”

My hands tighten on the armrests. 4,393 feet.

“—and if you look to your left about fifteen minutes in, you might catch sight of some local wildlife, including white-tailed deer and black bears—”

“Focus on me,” Finn says quietly, noticing my tension. “Not the numbers.”

“—in the event of an emergency, remain calm and follow crew instructions. All exits are clearly marked—”

“They have to say that,” Finn adds, crossing her legs and taking another sip of her mimosa. She’s the picture of unbothered. I wonder if there’s anything that truly scares her, or if she just analyzes and dissects every situation before it can. “Standard procedure.”

“Right,” I manage, trying to match her relaxed posture. “Standard procedure.”

“And now,” the conductor concludes, “sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride to the top of Vermont!”

The train lurches forward, and I grip the armrests tighter, my knuckles going white. Finn notices—of course she does—but doesn't comment.

Instead, she leans forward and taps her fingers on the journal, returning to our conversation. “So, write in this. Penny has already sent you some prompts, or you can do the tried-and-truewriting what I did todaymethod. Try stream-of-consciousness.Sometimes it takes a little time to ease into the practice, especially for men.

“You might hear a voice in your head telling you that it’s notmanlyto write in a journal, but I’m telling you right now that almost every athlete I’ve ever worked with has benefited from this. So, just put the pen to paper and do it until it starts to feel natural. I won’t read it, but I’ll check to make sure there’s something in there.”

“You’re like an English teacher,” I say, laughing through my fear as the train chugs slowly up. Finn rises, not even wobbly on her feet, and opens the window a crack, letting in a cool stream of fresh mountain air. Just outside the window, we can hear the tinkling of water running alongside the tracks. Finn sinks back down into her chair and sighs. The deep mahogany wood behind her shines in the early morning light, and I glance around the cabin for the first time since we walked in.

It’s definitely a first-class experience, like I originally thought. Plush leather seating, antique wood panels, and a little button on my chair I discover activates a heated massage element. I switch it on, and we ride in silence for a few minutes.

I’m just starting to relax in my seat, eyes shut, when she speaks again.

“The view is incredible,” Finn says softly. “You’re missing it.”

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