Page 109 of My Pucked Up Enemy

Derek gives a half-smile, not surprised. "You’ve both been subtle, but not that subtle. I know my players, and I know when one of them starts showing up early to mindset sessions and sticking around a little too long afterward."

My cheeks burn, but he holds my gaze, steady and kind.

"I haven’t told anyone official," I say quietly. "It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. And now it’s… complicated."

"That’s how the real stuff always starts," he says. "Messy. Unexpected. Worth it."

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head as I walk toward the door. "And here I thought we were being discreet. Busted by the coach."

Derek just smirks, already turning back to his screen. “Welcome to hockey. Nothing stays secret for long.”

The laugh that escapes me is small but real. And somehow, I feel better.

Still, as I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, the smile fades. Because clarity doesn’t mean the decision gets easier. It just means I know exactly what’s at stake.

***

The team facility pulses with quiet anticipation. Late afternoon sun pours through the high windows as I finish taping a few final visualization prompts to the whiteboard.

“Alright, gentlemen,” I call out, clapping my hands. “Two-minute reset drill. Phones away. Sit tall.”

The guys gather in their usual half-circle, some sitting on benches, some cross-legged on the floor. James yawns dramatically. Ethan mock-meditates with exaggerated humming.

“Lovelace,” I warn. “You hum like that during game prep and I’ll make you repeat this session in interpretive dance form.”

He mimes horror. “Not the dance!”

They settle. I scan the room.

Alex is there sitting against the wall, arms resting on his knees. Calm. Composed. A masterclass in control. But he doesn’t look at me.

Not once.

I launch into the drill. “Today’s focus is breathing into challenge. Visualize the moment when the pressure is highest—tie game, final minutes, no one in the stands is breathing. That’s your cue to slow everything down.”

They close their eyes. Some nod along. I lead them through breath work, mental rehearsals, emotional grounding. They’ve come a long way. I should feel proud.

But I can feel Alex’s distance like it’s a wall between us.

He’s here. Present. But not with me.

Again, is he guarding himself? Or giving me space?

The session ends. I stay back to tidy up the materials while the guys filter out toward the ice. I catch snatches of conversation…Ethan joking about pregame burritos, James trying to convince someone to let him DJ in the locker room.

Alex brushes past with a short nod.

That’s it.

No smile. No word. No hint of what we were just days ago.

I feel like I’m in a room full of people and somehow still alone.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the tasks in front of me—prep notes, hydration logs, the mental rotation board. But I move like I’m on autopilot because my thoughts are a million miles away.

When everything’s done, I slip out the side door.

My car is quiet. I sit in the driver’s seat, hands wrapped around my steering wheel, watching the last bit of daylight stretch out across the asphalt.

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