“We’re on neutral ground at the rink,” he said, “For future reference, no need to suit up. Save the slacks for the office.”
I glanced down at my perfectly tailored pants. “So this isn’t business-casual ice?”
His lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but enough to tick global warming up yet another half degree. I hated how much I noticed it.
“You should stay warm. Wouldn’t want you freezing during drills,” he said, already turning away.
I pulled the jacket tighter, my heart fluttering again. This time, zero percent from cold. Maybe I wasn’t nailing this job yet, but I wasn’t frozen out either. And that felt like a win.
Chapter six
Mel
There was a team curfew, but my sparkling new job didn’t come with one. Still, wandering Denver solo felt less like an adventure and more like a questionable life choice.
So, I grabbed a hotel kitchen meal, snapped a picture of it, and sent it to Erica with a message:
Me:Send Thai takeout. Will trade hockey gossip.
Erica:Girl, that plate looks like airplane food.
Me:Correction: 4.5-star hotel food.
Erica:Fine, still tragic. Spill later, out and about.\*sorry emoji\*
Then I retreated to my room. My well-behaved adult self in yoga pants curled on the couch and picked up the TV remote.
I scrolled through the hotel’s stream until I landed onSomeone Great. Not exactly light viewing, but it hit that weird sweet spot—the bittersweet transition from absent and stale relationships to clarity and reinvention, all bundled into one glitter-smudged breakup spiral.
I half ate, half watched as Gina Rodriguez’s character walked through New York, aching, but also waking up to her next chapter. And it got me thinking.
With Andrew, it had only ever been polite flickers that never caught flame, leaving me with the soft disappointment of having hoped for something that never took shape. But better friends than dragging something flatlined across the finish line.
What lingered wasn’t him so much as it was the reminder that “nice” could trick you into staying longer than you should. Because safe feels comfortable, and comfortable feels tempting, especially when your mom is whispering about timelines and babies like they’re overdue bills.
That was why the movie hit me harder than it should have: watching someone else wake up to the truth that endings aren’t failures.
I exhaled, sliding deeper under the covers. One chapter closed, another still unfolding—calledmy job.Involving a moody hockey coach who lent me his jacket without smiling. So, you know, no pressure.
The next morning, I dressed like a woman who’d survived one rinkside freeze and learned her damn lesson. Black textured leggings (because comfort is key, people), a moisture-wicking long-sleeve shirt, and the official Tahoe West quarter-zip Maria had handed me during my orientation, topped with a sporty navy puffer. Warm, practical, built for movement. Notglamorous, but who cared? Hockey logistics didn’t award style points.
I pulled my hair into a low ponytail, swiped on light makeup to tone down the zombie effect I was giving off, then gave my reflection a solidnot-bad-for-6 a.m.nod.
Game day. Colorado Avalanche.
The bus ride was eerily silent. No chirping, no Logan trash-talking the opposite team. Players were locked in, headphones on, zone-mode activated. Any yoga instructor would love this hushed moment for a meditation session.
I sat near the front and scrolled through walk-through notes. My job was still ‘observe and absorb,’ but Maria had hinted that ‘internal reports’ were next. No pressure, except that my primary grader sat three rows behind in a Tahoe West jacket and was as unreadable as a tattoo in Hebrew.
At the arena, barricade fans pressed against the glass, Zambonis purred, and camera ops set up their equipment. I checked the player hydration station and helped the trainers with their equipment.
Mid-laugh at a trainer’s joke, I turned and froze.
Coach Murphy’s eyes were on me, and not a fleeting glance. He waswatching. His gaze held mine, a silent laser beam, while everyone around us was in motion. Then he gave a small nod that landed with a jolt in my chest before turning away.
I looked down, suddenly all too aware of my jacket and my entire freaking spine. Maybe this was what it felt like to be truly seen and not quite know how to breathe through it.
Before I could guess the feeling, it was game time.
