Page 104 of My Pucked Up Enemy

Ethan leans in. “Glad I had breakfast but should’ve had another coffee.”

Nina smirks faintly but keeps her tone crisp. “Instead of visualization today, we’re doing a new group challenge. Think of it as mental improv.”

A groan goes up from the back.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’ll like this one. I promise.”

She starts pairing players randomly and passing out envelopes. “Inside are unpredictable scenarios. One of you will lead. One of you will respond. And you’ll only have fifteen seconds to react.”

Parker opens his and groans. “Ready Connor. Here it is. You’re the captain. Your goalie just threw his stick into the stands after a blown save. Media’s waiting.”

Connor replies. “Easy. I keep my voice calm, put a hand on the goalie’s shoulder, and say, ‘We’ve all cracked once. Now zip it up and get your head back in the cage.’ Then I walk straight into the media room and own it—say emotions were high, and we stand by our guy.”

Nina raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Nice. Strong leadership, and accountability without excuses. Next.”

Dillon reads for James to answer. “You’re being chirped so hard in the penalty box, you almost swing. Almost.”

He smirks and swivels his chair. “I’d grip the top of the boards, stare that guy down, and say, ‘Keep chirping. I’ve got a whole list of people who’ve regretted it.’ Then I’d flash the scoreboard and remind him who’s winning, assuming we are.”

Nina raises an eyebrow. “Confident and contained. Good.” She pauses. “But what if you’re losing?”

James doesn’t miss a beat. “Then I flash my rings and remind him I know how to win when it counts. Or I grin and say, ‘Scoreboard’s temporary. Your face after I drop you? That’ll be forever.’”

The room bursts out laughing.

Nina smirks, shaking her head. “Classic James. Next.”

Mikey grabs his envelope, tearing it open like it might bite him. "Okay, here goes. Ethan, you're a defenseman. You've just taken a dumb penalty with two minutes left in a tied playoff game. The coach is glaring. The team’s quiet."

He shrugs. "I own it. Skate back to the bench, take off my helmet, and say, ‘That one’s on me. You bail me out, and beers are on me for a month.’ Then I sit down and cheer louder than anyone else."

James cackles. “And then you Venmo us six dollars and pretend that covers it.”

Nina smiles. “Accountability with a sense of humor. Not bad, next.”

She keeps handing out envelopes, calm and in control. Until she gets to me.

She doesn’t say anything—just slides the envelope toward me. Her fingers brush mine.

Flash of heat. Skin to skin. Barely a second. But it lands like thunder.

Still, we don’t look at each other.

I hand it to Connor.

He reads it. “You’ve just let in a game-tying goal in the final minute of the third. Your team’s staring at you. Your coach is silent. You’ve got one minute to reset.”

My throat tightens.

It’s hypothetical.

But it’s not.

Because I’ve lived it. And now, I feel like I’m living it again, but off the ice.

I speak clearly. “I run my routine. Skate to the boards. Tap the post. I breathe. In for four, out for eight. I say what I always say.”

James, from across the room, calls out, “Which is?”

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