Page 16 of My Pucked Up Enemy

"No. That fragile."

I explain some of the work I’m planning: group cohesion, one-on-one sessions, mindfulness prep before games. I mention how the team is talented, but something’s fractured. That Coach Stephens brought me in mid-season to help turn things around. I don’t name anyone, but I talk about personalities. The charming ones. The stubborn ones.

And then I mention him.

"There’s one," I say, casually swirling the straw in my drink. "Goalie. Intense."

Patty’s lips part like she’s about to bite into dessert. "Intense?"

I nod. "Doesn’t say much, but when he does, it cuts. Carries the weight of the net like it owes him something."

She leans in, delighted. "And is he hot?"

I pause too long.

Patty gasps. "Oh my God, he’s hot."

"I didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to. You just gave me your I’m-pretending-this-isn’t-a-problem face."

I laugh, shaking my head. "It doesn’t matter. He’s off-limits. They are all off-limits. And by the way, they are all pretty much hot."

"Because of the job or because of the brooding?"

"Both. And it would be a professional disaster."

"Right," she says, nodding. "But a hot professional disaster."

I smile, but my thoughts drift. Back to that session. Back to the moment where his guard didn’t drop, but maybe... shifted, just a little.

He’s not easy. But he’s not unreachable either. And that might be the real problem.

Patty watches me closely. "He got under your skin. You care. Doesn’t make you weak, Nina. It makes you... well, still human. That’s allowed."

I sigh and look down at my half-empty glass. “He’s smart. Sharp. He pretends like he’s aloof, above all of it, but it’s a mask. And he wears it so tightly I think he’s forgotten what it feels like to breathe without it.”

She raises a brow. "Okay, Dr. Freud. Sounds like someone’s a little fascinated."

"I am. But not for the reason you think. He’s the kind of guy who pushes people away before they can even consider getting close. He uses silence as a shield. But behind it there’s this edge, this tension…like he’s one wrong thought away from unraveling."

I swirl my glass again. “It’s not about saving him. It’s about not looking away when someone’s drowning just because they’re too proud to call it that.”

Patty lets the words hang, then softer: “Be careful, Nina. You can’t be their anchor and their lifeboat. Especially not for someone who doesn’t know which one they want you to be.”

I nod. “I know. There are lines. Boundaries.”

“And yet...” she says, grinning.

“And yet,” I echo.

***

Later that night, I walk into my condo with tired legs and a head full of the day’s happenings. I kick off my boots, pull my hair up into a knot, and drop onto the couch with my notebook open to the page I’ve kept clean for him.

Alex Chadwick.

I stare at the name for a second.

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