Page 3 of My Pucked Up Enemy

“Alex has been a little off lately. Came back strong after the knee injury a couple of years ago, but something’s not clicking. He’s locked in physically, but mentally, something’s shifting. He won’t talk about it.”

“Of course not,” I murmur. “Because talking is weakness, and goalies are gods.”

Coach nods slowly, like he’s not sure if I’m mocking or agreeing. I’m not sure either.

“How’s his leadership?”

“Quiet. Calculated. He doesn’t waste words, but when he speaks, they listen."

“And when I speak?”

Coach’s mouth slowing tries to grin. “We’ll find out.”

He leans a hip against the desk and folds his arms again. "Connor’s the captain. He’s the heartbeat of the room—steady, focused, knows when to rally and when to rip someone a new one. Parker’s right behind him. He’s a rule-follower, but he’s got some bend when it counts. James, Ethan, and Alex? They’re the ball busters, classic single guys who live to give each other crap. And you’ll meet a few of the younger guys like Mikey Tran and Dillon Foster…good kids, still figuring out their place."

He pauses, and the edge in his voice softens. "But here’s the thing. They’re all solid human beings. They’ve got each other’s backs. They’ve got mine too. This group is a family. And just like any family, sometimes the dynamics get messy."

He gives me a knowing look. "That’s where you come in."

***

The next morning, I settle into the glass-walled observation suite above the rink. It’s a bird’s-eye view without being in their faces.

Lukewarm black coffee in hand, I watch the team drag themselves through post-practice cooldowns and stretches. The vibe is... off. No real banter. The rhythm feels forced.

At the far end of the ice, Chadwick moves like he’s on autopilot. Every motion is clean. Exact. Mechanical.

There’s no joy in it.

His shoulders are hunched just a hair too much. His jaw doesn’t move. Not even a word to the trainer. Hyper-focused or hiding? Probably both.

I jot in my notebook:

Chadwick – goalie – high-functioning pressure cooker.

Watch for signs of burnout. Perfectionist tendencies. Control fixation. Isolation masking stress? Possibly sleep disruption or repressed trauma from injury recovery.

I glance back down. Parker is joking with Ethan, tossing a puck at his feet mid-stretch. Ethan dodges it like he’s done this routine a hundred times.

James is doing a hamstring stretch all wrong and knows it, but keeps talking through it, unbothered.

They’re not broken. Just out of sync. Probably mentally exhausted from playing tight. You can’t win if you’re gripping the stick so hard your knuckles go white.

I keep writing:

Connor – captain, steady leader, team anchor

Parker – social regulator

Ethan – internalizer, perfectionist

James – deflector, high sarcasm, possible stress clown

I sip my coffee again, making a face. Still tastes gross, but it’s still necessary.

I jot a few more names down, mapping the room the way a field commander maps a combat zone—who leads, who follows, who hides.

A tap on the door pulls me back.

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