Page 21 of My Athlete Neighbor

Kane shoved his phone in his bag with more force than necessary. He had a job to do, a team to lead, a game to win. No distractions. No complications. No thoughts about librarians who read stories with different voices and stress-baked at midnight and looked gorgeous in his team’s jersey.

"Ready, Cap?" Oliver paused at the door.

Kane took a deep breath, trying to find his focus. But all he could think about was Allison's smile when he scored, the wayshe was learning to love hockey again, how it felt to kiss her in hidden corners of their apartment building.

"Yeah," he lied, following his team toward the ice. "Ready."

Behind him, Dmitri hummed the tragic love theme from Swan Lake.

It was going to be a long night.

ALLISON HADN'T PLANNEDon watching the game. She had a stack of new picture books to review, three story time sessions to plan, and absolutely no reason to care about a hockey match happening six hours away in Pittsburgh.

But here she was, curled on her couch at seven pm, wearing Kane's Charm City Chill sweater he'd "accidentally" left in her apartment last week. The TV was tuned to the sports channel, and her grandfather's lucky puck sat on the coffee table, taunting her.

Her phone buzzed with the first of what would undoubtedly be many messages from her neighbors.

Mrs. Peterson:Dear, are you watching? The boys look nervous without their lucky charm.

Before Allison could respond, the building's group chat exploded:

Jenny:Did you see Kane during warmups? He kept checking the stands.

Mr. Collins:Not the same energy without the puck.

Mrs. Martinez: Mi hijo says the ice looks different.

Allison silenced her phone as the game began. She didn't need their commentary making her feel worse about staying home. This was the right decision. The team needed to learn to win without supernatural help, and Kane needed to focus on hockey, not her.

But her heart still clenched when the camera caught him during the opening faceoff. Even through the TV, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set too tight. He'd texted her early this morning when they were on the road:Sure you won't reconsider coming? Dmitri says he'll teach you his good luck ballet routine.

She'd replied with a gif of a librarian shushing the camera. He'd sent back a sad face andAt least, tell me you'll be watching?

I’ll be watching,she had texted back.

The first period was brutal. Kane missed a perfect pass from Oliver, something he could usually handle in his sleep. The Blitz' defense seemed to have his number, checking him hard into the boards twice. When Pittsburgh scored first, the cameras caught Coach Vicky's expression darkening.

"Come on," Allison whispered, leaning forward as Kane lined up another shot. "You've got this."

He didn't. The puck went wide, and Kane's frustration was visible even through his helmet. The period ended with the Chill down by one, and Allison's phone was going crazy:

Mrs. Peterson:The energy's all wrong. You should have been there.

Jenny:Kane looks off his game.

Mr. Collins:@Allison what did you do to our star player??

She ignored them all, but her fingers itched to text Kane. To tell him that she believed in him, puck or no puck. Not that he’d see it until the game ended. Instead, she pulled his sweater tighter around herself and tried to remember the reason why she hadn’t just gone to the game.

The second period started marginally better. Dmitri, ever the showman, pulled off one of his signature moves—a between-the-legs pass that had the commentators raving. Marcus orchestrated a beautiful defensive play that prevented a suregoal. And Liam was a wall in net, making save after incredible save to keep them in the game.

But Kane still wasn't Kane. He was trying too hard, forcing plays that weren't there, missing opportunities that were. The cameras kept finding him on the bench, where he sat with his head down, barely engaging with his teammates.

The Blitz were running a neutral zone trap, clogging up the middle of the ice. The Chill needed to adjust their breakout, maybe try some stretch passes...

Her phone lit up with a text from Oliver:He's in his head. Fix it.

She typed and deleted three responses before settling on:He doesn't need me to play hockey.

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