Page 27 of My Pucked Up Enemy

"I breathe just fine until you start talking," James shoots back.

Coach claps once. "Let’s move."

The players file out. I linger a second longer, letting my breath settle. Then I follow.

***

The first period is fast not just in pace but in sharpness. It’s the kind of edge where everything clicks, and every movement feels like instinct.

The rival team comes out swinging. One minute in, they charge the net. I drop, butterfly style, glove snatching the puck just before it crosses the crease.

The crowd roars. I barely hear it.

I focus on my breath. In through the nose. Out slow through the mouth. The way Nina taught me.

Another shot. Blocked.

A breakaway. I charge, cut the angle. Stick save. Cleared.

I’m in the zone. Not because I’m perfect, but because tonight, I’ve stopped trying to be.Look at that for fuck’s sake!

The tools Nina gave me—visualization, breath control—they’re working!

End of the first: 1–1.

Back in the locker room, the energy is electric and twitchy. Players drop into their stalls, wipe sweat, down Gatorade.

"Ethan," James calls, flinging a towel at him, "you miss another wide-open pass like that and I’m getting you an eye exam."

Ethan flips him off without looking up. "Maybe I’d see better if your head wasn’t blocking half the ice."

Chuckles scatter through the room.

I pull off my helmet, wiping sweat from my face. I catch myself glancing toward the door. No Nina. Not that she’s supposed to be there. But part of me wonders…

Coach steps up, tapping someone’s stick once on the ground.

"I like what I’m seeing out there. Stay out of the box, keep your heads together, and continue to play smart."

I look around at the guys, then speak. "If we play like we did in practice, we’re fine."

That earns a couple of nods. Even a low "Yeah" from Connor.

James mock-gasps. "Chadwick spoke in a team huddle. Someone write that down."

I smirk, tossing my towel at him. "If I start quoting inspirational posters, then worry."

"Too late," James says. "You already sound like a guidance counselor."

The banter rolls on, but something feels better. The guys lean in more and look at each other a little longer. The locker room starts to feel like a unit again.

And me... I feel it, too. A glimmer of ease…and hope.

I don’t know if we’ll win this game yet. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not trying to carry the whole thing alone.

And maybe, just maybe, some of that is because of her.

Game’s not over.

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