Page 71 of Second Chance Faceoff

Ryan was at the corner table in the staff lounge, bent over a notebook with his usual black coffee in hand. His pen kept tapping against the side of the cup, but whatever he was writing wasn’t moving forward. Not really.

"You planning our playoff run?" I said, sliding into the seat across from him.

He didn’t look up. "Just trying to figure out why we keep losing faceoffs in the third."

"I think the teams are adjusting. We win early draws, but by the third, they've got us figured out." I paused, " Well, that and we are usually low on gas at that point."

Ryan gave me a look but didn’t argue.

"So," I said, fingers laced together on the table. "I’ve been thinking. About the transfer. About what you said. About Riley."

That got his attention. He sat back, eyebrows lifting.

"And?"

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because her face flashed through my head again. Her hands. Her voice. Her lips.

"We, uh… talked."

Ryan held up a hand. "Nope. Stop. You remember the rule. Only tell me what I need to know."

I grinned. "Right. Just—consider it covered."

He nodded once, satisfied. "So?"

"So… I’m staying. I want to stay. This place is good for me. Why should I leave? If I leave, Vanessa wins."

Ryan was quiet. Too quiet.

"You’re not gonna say anything?"

"I’m glad," he said finally. "That you talked to her. That you thought it through. That you came here to tell me."

But there was something else in his voice.

"Everything good?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Just… a lot going on."

I didn’t push. Whatever it was, it wasn’t for now. I slapped the table lightly and stood. "Alright. See you out there."

"Yeah. See you."

I walked out, that weird note still echoing in my head.

Something was off. Still, my head felt clearer than it had been in weeks.

I stepped into the locker room, and I grabbed my gear. Scrimmage day. The best kind of practice. Just pure, high-speed hockey. Playmaking instincts, quick reads, and the kind of competition that reminds you exactly why you fight for a spot on the ice.

I pulled on my gear, tightened the laces on my skates, and rolled my shoulders. A few guys were already messing around, tossing pucks against the boards and chirping each other about yesterday’s reps.

Helmet on. Gloves secured. I stepped on the Ice. Time to work.

Coop and a few guys were already on the ice, waiting for the coaches to call lines. I skated toward them, then turned towards the coaches.

"Put Grady on my line."

Grady had pushed me harder than I expected yesterday, and that was exactly why I wanted him on my wing today.

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