Page 119 of My Pucked Up Enemy

He blows out a breath. "Shit, man. That’s tough. Do you know where she’s leaning?"

“I have no fucking idea. It’s like I’m dangling over the edge, just waiting on her to either reach for me… or push me over the damn cliff.”

“You love her,” he says simply.

“Yeah, I do.”

Parker nods, letting that settle.

“Then maybe it’s time to stop hoping she throws you a rope,” he says. “And start figuring out how to stand on solid ground, with or without her.”

I glance away. “I just keep replaying it. The way she hesitates. The way she looks at me like she wants to choose this but can’t make peace with it. Like I’m some… detour from her real life.”

“She’d be long gone by now if that were true.”

“But what if she’s only staying because she feels guilty? Or because it’s easy right now? What happens when the shine wears off?”

Parker straightens. “You can’t control her reasons. But you can control what you do next. Don't live in her indecision. It'll kill you. We have Game 7 to focus on. Play like she’s either here to stay or already gone, whichever one will make you play your best."

His words hit harder than anything in the weight room ever could.

I stare down at my shoes, then back up. “You're right. I need to get my head together. We have to win this game.”

Parker claps me on the shoulder. “Then do that. Be the guy the team leans on. And when the game’s over, you deal with the rest.”

I nod slowly. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime. Just don’t throw your stick at me next time you’re spiraling.”

I manage a grin. “Noted.”

Parker starts to turn like he’s going to head toward the locker room, but then he pauses and turns back toward me. “There’s one more thing,” he says. “Yeah?"

He looks almost sheepish for half a second — rare for Parker. Then he shrugs like he’s tossing it out casual, even though I can tell it’s not. "If I hadn’t taken the chance with Grace," he says, "I’d probably still be the guy burying himself in training sessions and pretending that winning games was enough."

I frown. I’ve heard pieces of Parker’s story, but not like this. Not so raw.

“She scared the hell out of me," he admits, voice low. "Because she wasn’t a sure thing. Because she had her own life, her own dreams. I could’ve stayed safe. Focused on Bessie. Focused on hockey. But sometimes you have to leap before you’re sure you’ll land.” He meets my eyes steadily. “Best damn risk I ever took.”

The words sit heavy between us. No lecture. No bullshit. Just truth.

I nod, my throat thick. "Thanks, man," I say again, and this time I mean it differently. Deeper.

He claps me on the shoulder one last time and leaves me standing there in the empty hallway, the faint sounds of the weight room echoing down the corridor.

I turn my phone over in my hand, heart pounding harder than it ever has before a game. Parker’s right. I can’t live in the what-ifs. I can’t wait for Nina to save me.

If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging.

I open my texts and start to type.

Meet me at the rink in a half hour. Bring your skates.

I stare at the message for half a second before hitting send. No explanation. No overthinking.

Just one more shot.

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