Page 52 of My Pucked Up Enemy

"Not bad. Not good. Just... in between."

He plants himself in the chair behind his desk and leans forward, elbows resting on the worn wood. "Let’s talk about the team."

I nod, pulling my notepad from my bag. "Sure. Where do you want to start?"

"Let’s start with the obvious. Last few games… three wins, one loss. Energy’s decent. Locker room’s a little quiet, but not toxic. And yet... something feels off."

He’s watching me, and not just as a coach assessing his team psychologist. He’s looking for something beneath the surface. I keep my posture steady.

"Agreed," I say. "The win in Buffalo was solid. They moved like a unit. But the loss at home... I don’t think it was about strategy."

He squints slightly, cocking his head. "What do you think went wrong out there? What felt off to you?"

"It felt emotional. Reaction times were slow. Frustration showed faster. Players weren’t syncing. There’s a gap in trust, not wide, but enough to trip up momentum."

He nods slowly. "Any idea where it’s coming from?"

"Part of it is pressure. They’re talking playoffs, even if no one’s saying it outright. And pressure hits different depending on the player."

He rubs his chin. "Who’s struggling the most?"

I hesitate. Then I say, "Alex."

His eyes narrow slightly, not in judgment, just focus. "He’s quieter."

"Yes."

"He’s also been better. Sharper the three games before the last one, especially the one in Boston. That game was his cleanest this season. But he’s carrying something."

I exhale. "He’s internalizing more than he lets on."

Coach leans back, studying me. "I know that look. You’re protecting him."

"I’m observing," I say carefully.

He doesn’t call me out, doesn’t press. Instead, he moves on. "Let’s talk about the rest. James?"

"Vocal as ever, but using humor to deflect more. I’m trying to dig under it."

"Ethan?"

"Stable. Focused. Low maintenance, surprisingly."

"Parker?"

"Carrying more than he says. But he’s a pillar for the younger guys. That makes a difference."

Coach nods slowly, tapping his fingers on the desk. "You’ve done good work, Nina. I see it."

The compliment catches me off guard. "Thank you. That means a lot," I say.

"So what do you have in mind to get these guys to the playoffs in the right frame of mind? I have a plan with the trainers for their physical readiness. Do you have a plan?"

"Actually, I do," I say, flipping to a fresh page in my notebook. "I’d like to propose something unconventional but potentially powerful. During our upcoming bye week, I’d like to organize a short team retreat. One to two days max. There’s an inn about thirty minutes outside Detroit. Private, quiet, rustic but still comfortable."

Derek lifts his chin, listening.

"It’s close enough not to disrupt logistics, but far enough to give the guys a break from the facility, the routine, the noise. The inn has open space for movement-based drills, breakout rooms for small group discussions, and a few outdoor elements like a fire pit, nature trails, etc."

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