Page 30 of The Girlfriend Zone

So I do. I move the puck forward, sending it past the goalie’s skate, and it lodges in the net.

Callahan high-fives me, and Bryant swings around for a pat on the back. Over on the bench, Coach gives an approving nod. He’s rarely one for cheering.

When I hop over the boards for a line shift, Coach patsmy shoulder. “Good job out there, Falcon. You keep that up. Set the pace,” he says.

A wave of discomfort tightens in my chest. I fucking hope it won’t be like this all season. This kernel of guilt, this secret—it’s only natural I’d still feel the press of it now. A few more weeks and it’ll fade. I’m the kind of guy who learns from his mistakes, so I’m going to learn to be smarter, ask more questions, and never lose sight of my goals again.

“Yes, sir.”

The next night, we play hard against Montreal, and when the game ends with a W, Coach hands me the puck in the locker room. “You capitalized on the power play. Do that this season. That’s what we need.”

Later, he pulls me aside in the corridor as we’re leaving. “I mean that. You know you can do that, right?”

That’s what he helped me most with when I joined this team after Vancouver put me on waivers—basically hockey’s way of sayinganyone can have this guy we don’t want. I get it though—after my ACL tear and recovery, I’d lost my edge on the power play and Vancouver didn’t believe I’d improve. But Coach McBride saw my potential, helped me see it was fear of injury slowing me down rather than anything physical. I worked with him and the team psychologist so I could get over that mental block after not being fast enough post-injury.

I don’t struggle like that anymore. I’m even faster now, post-rehab.

But what would he think if he knew about the other night? Well, he’ll never know. “I can, and I will, sir,” I say as my teammates stream down the hall toward the exit.

“Good. That’s what we want.”

That’s theonlything he’ll want—for me to play at peak performance. That’s what I want too.

When the road trip is over, we head home with three wins and one loss, and one short text message from Leighton thanking me for the gift I dropped off.

I don’t answer it. Because I’m moving on.

INTERLUDE: WHEN WE PINE

In The Fall

11

JUST IN CASE

Leighton

“The Sports Network offered me a regular freelance spot. I’ll be covering the Renegades,” I say the second I step into my dad’s office, a bit breathless from rushing over. It’s early November, and I’ve been hustling nonstop for the last couple months.

I hand him the coffee I just picked up for him. His face lights up as he rises from behind his desk, his eyes twinkling in that way that tells me he’s genuinely thrilled. I’d texted him that I had news, and, since I was in the area, he’d convinced me to bring him coffee, declaring that the coffee in the arena “tastes like it’s been dragged through the locker room.” So here I am, playing delivery girl. Not that I mind.

“That’s fantastic! I’m not at all surprised. They loved you when you interned for them a few summers back,” he says, pulling me into a hug.

He’s not wrong. The producers there gave me glowingrecs. “And look who’s making it on her own,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips. My dad’s offered to help me out with rent more times than I can count, but, as tempting as it sometimes is, I’ve turned him down. Maybe I’m stubborn, maybe just proud, but I don’t like depending on him. And since I don’t have to, I choose not to. I’ve landed work on my own, and I’m making inroads by pushing hard.

He starts asking about my work, and we chat until he nods toward the open door, indicating someone’s here. For one electric second, I wonder if it’s Miles. My skin prickles at the thought, my pulse quickening as I remember our night together. But when I turn, it’s not him. It’s Everly Rosewood, the team’s publicist.

“Hey!” she says brightly, stepping in for a quick hug. I tell her my new job news.

“So, does this mean I can officially add you to my photographer roster now?” she asks.

Dad’s eyes spark in that knowing way, clearly pleased with the prospect.

“Of course,” I say to her, since I’d be a fool to turn down her suggestion. But I’m also not convinced anything will come of it.

After Everly leaves, Dad leans back in his chair, studying me. “Would you want to do that? Take on some work here?”

I hesitate. It’s a tempting offer, but there’s that nagging thought—if I work here, I’d probably see Miles around, maybe more than I’m ready for. Still, I’m practical, and I know how valuable connections can be. Denying Everly’s offer, especially when I can back it up with my talent, would be…well, foolish. The world runs on connections, and I’m hungry to prove myself. After all, I wouldn’t be where I am without my father instilling confidence in me from day one.

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