Page 109 of Goalie's Obsession

But after the chaos of LA, at least it feels likehome.

I close my eyes for a second. Just breathe it in. The scrape of skates on tile, the distant thud of weights in the gym, the hum of the vending machine that only ever spits out lemon-lime Gatorade.

Everything's normal.

Except nothing’s normal anymore.

I head toward the coach’s office, knocking once before stepping in. Brody’s at his desk, typing something, but he stops the second he sees me. He leans back in his chair with a low grunt, eyeing me with a frown that usually scares the shit out of me.

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

I shrug. “I haven’t.”

He nods, then remains silent for a beat. Then, in a rare shift of tone, he says, “You wanna sit, or just hover like a storm cloud?”

I take the chair, sinking into the worn leather like it might hold me together better than I’m managing on my own.

Through the office window, Iron Ridge stretches beyond the glass. Overnight snow is crusted along the rooftops, pine trees swaying just enough to make the mountains look alive.

Somewhere out there, Lucy’s trying to piece herself back together. Probably nursing a cold coffee, sitting in that window booth at Chapter & Grind with her knees pulled up and her heart still cracked open.

I stare at the curve of the ridgeline, the place where town meets sky, and wonder if she’s looking at the same view right now, wondering the same damn thing.

Coach doesn’t look at me right away. He reaches for the hockey stick leaning against the wall and runs his fingers along the blade like it's an old habit he can't break.

“So,” he says finally, voice rough with meaning. “You and Lucy holding up okay?”

My stomach knots. I glance out the window.

“We’re managing,” I say, because it’s easier thanno, ornot really, orI’m pretty sure I permanently broke her heart last night.

Coach exhales through his nose. “There was a lot of talk in L.A. About the Daniels family.”

"I know. I'm sorry."

“I spoke to half a dozen execs at that gala,” he says, voice low. “Three of them mentioned Ethan’s name before dessert. So I figured I’d be seeing you in here sooner or later, but my question is, what the hell is going on?"

I shift in my chair, fingers tightening around my knee as I stare out the window.

“We’re handling it,” I say finally. “Or trying to.”

He grunts. Not skeptical. Not convinced, either. We both knowtryingdoesn’t cut it when the entire franchise could be on the line.

“You know, Walsh. I’ve seen that look before,” he mutters, tipping his head in my direction. “The one you've got right now. I wore it myself for a long time. Thought carrying the weight meant I was doing the right thing.”

I glance up, surprised by the softness in his tone.

“Turns out,” he adds, “it just meant I didn’t trust anyone else to carry it with me.”

I exhale through my nose.

“Coach, it feels like if I don’t hold it together, it all falls apart. It's exactly how I felt when I moved here all those years ago.”

I stare out at the ridgeline again, the jagged horizon I used to hate those first few months when I was drafted into the minor league.

It reminded me of everything I’d lost by moving here. My hometown, rare family dinners and the noise that made the silence bearable.

For those first lonely months in Iron Ridge, I didn’t even unpack my boxes. Thought this was just a pit stop. Somewhere to play until the next trade.

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