Page 26 of My Pucked Up Enemy

When they open their eyes, something’s different. Not huge. But enough. More grounded. More… connected.

And Alex doesn’t look away when our eyes meet. He just gives me a subtle nod. Not approval. But something that is similar just beneath it.

"Coach, back to you," I say confidently.

"Thank you. Alright men, let's run some drills."

As I watch the remainder of the practice, I notice a slight change in their energy: more calm, less frantic. Focused, even if only for brief moments. Let's hope it's the harbinger of what's to come.

***

That night, back in my office, the facility almost empty, I log performance notes and track trends. There’s still work to do. But something changed today.

I open Alex’s file and stare at the last entry. Then pull a sticky note and scribble:

When he’s calm in the crease again, this team’s going to feel it.

I shut the file and let my thoughts drift to that kiss. The heat of it. The confusion. The way it rattled something loose inside me I haven’t touched in years.

I take a steadying breath, collecting myself.

I’m starting to break through to him.

But God help me if he breaks me in the process.

Chapter eight

Alex

Thelockerroomisfilled with chaos, the kind that comes right before the game starts. Guys bark jokes across the room, sticks thump on benches, tape unravels in fast, practiced spirals. Sweat and adrenaline already cling to the air.

I sit on the edge of my stall, pads on, laces tight, headphones over my ears. The music thuds low and steady, just enough to keep me locked in. I watch the rhythm of my breath, not the room. The chaos is white noise.

Nina’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Not actually her voice, but the memory of something she said in our last session:You’re not alone out there.

Easy for her to say. But still... I let the words sit there.

Coach Stephens steps into the center of the room. Just his presence is enough to silence the noise. Headphones come off. He gives us a long, hard look before speaking.

"Stick to the system. Play like a team. Trust each other. That’s how we win."

No yelling. No theatrics. Just that simple. That focused.

Parker comes by and claps my shoulder pad, voice light. "Let’s go win one the old-fashioned way, huh?"

I nod. "With blood, sweat, and sarcasm?"

"Exactly," Parker grins.

A couple of stalls over, James is fiddling with the music speaker. "So, if we don’t win tonight, I’m blaming the puffer vest."

“Why, don’t you like bright yellow?”

"You know," James goes on, tossing a puck from hand to hand. "Miss Psychology was out there, pacing in that vest like she’s coaching a Hallmark Christmas team."

Laughter breaks the tension. Even I smirk.

"Hey, maybe that visualization shit works," Ethan adds, tugging on his gloves. "She got me to breathe. I think I’ve been holding it in for weeks now."

---