Page 166 of Check & Chase
“As most of you know,” Coach begins, addressing the room at large, “we’re up 1-0 in the series against the Orcas. Good start, but it means nothing if we don’t maintain momentum tomorrow night. They’ll be desperate, adjusting their strategy to counter what worked for us in the first game.”
The familiar rhythm of playoff preparation should be all-consuming, but my mind keeps drifting to Emma. Her tears. Her forgiveness. The way she said she wanted to try again.
“Mitchell,” Coach’s sharp voice cuts through my distraction. “You with us?”
“Yes, sir,” I say automatically, straightening in my chair. “Completely focused.”
He gives me a dubious look but continues outlining our game plan, defensive adjustments, power play configurations. I take notes, forcing my attention to hockey, to the team that deserves my full commitment despite my personal drama.
After the meeting, Coach motions me to stay behind, waiting until the room empties before speaking. “Hartford,” he states, not a question but a statement.
I don’t bother denying it. “Yes, sir.”
“Fix your personal life on your own time, Mitchell. When you’re here, I need your head in the game. We’re five wins away from the Conference Finals, possibly facing the Wolves. This team needs you present, not daydreaming about your love life.”
“Understood,” I acknowledge, accepting the reprimand without argument.
He sighs. “That said… did your trip accomplish what you needed?”
The unexpected question catches me off guard. “I think so. It’s a start, at least.”
He nods, seeming satisfied. “Good. Now get to the training room.”
Practice goes better than expected, my focus sharper now that I’ve seen Emma, spoken with her, established the beginning of something again. There’s hope now, real and tangible.
“Whatever you did in Hartford,” Donovan comments as we leave the ice, “keep doing it. You’re almost back to normal.”
“Working on it,” I tell him, unable to suppress a small smile.
My phone rings just as I’m preparing for bed, and my heart leaps before I register that it’s Maya calling.
“Is Hartford still standing?” she asks the second I answer.
“Hello to you too. And yes, Hartford is fine. As is Emma.”
“I know she’s fine. She called me earlier.”
“Did she say anything? About me, about our conversation?”
“Patient confidentiality. Best friend code and all that.”
“Maya,” I groan, frustration mounting. “Why call if you’re not going to tell me anything?”
She laughs, the sound both familiar and comforting despite the circumstances. “Because I wanted to check on you, dumbass. Make sure you hadn’t crashed your car driving back to Pinewood while emotionally compromised.”
The casual concern touches me more than I expected. “I’m fine. Physically, at least. Emotionally is complicated.”
“Love usually is. Especially when it’s real.”
“You sound like Jackson,” I tease.
“Shut up. I’m serious.”
“It’s real,” I admit quietly. “Always has been.”
“I know. That’s why I’m rooting for you two crazy kids to figure it out, despite my better judgment as Emma’s self-appointed protector.”
“I appreciate that. More than you know.”
